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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 3 years

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So, now we’re doing this, @sherlockkittens.

I don’t care what you post

Yes, you do. Here:

Being so very anti-religion even comparing it to Mental Illness. Is further dividing Atheists and Theists

Once again, the division is between reality and delusion, between claims made by theists based on nothing but mere faith, and non-believers who reject them.

If you want to stop the divide, be silent. And we will be silent. You want us to believe. We just want you to shut your pie-hole. Stop telling us about your gods and we’ll stop telling you we don’t believe you, pointing out everything wrong with your ideas, and telling you that your ideas are stupid.

But remember, you came to me to tell me this. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t have been in my messages.

I don’t force my faith down anyone’s throats,

Your presence, uninvited, in my messages to lecture me about how your religion isn’t merely an idea - when it is, by definition - that I shouldn’t treat it as such, begs to differ.

You wanted something from me, and you told me what it was from the outset. I took you at your word. Including:

There are certain quotes from the Bible that you have picked that you have done out of context.

No, I haven’t. I’ve even explained the context to believers who insisted it wasn’t true, wasn’t in there, or meant something else. Mostly because they’ve never read it. I’ve pasted entire chapters into my posts to expand their apologetic out into its full explanation. But you wanted me to accept your better interpretation instead. Because your bible makes your beliefs look bad. Mostly because they are.

However, Christianity is very different it is based on the view that Jesus had to die to save humanity from sin.

This is one of the most repugnant, nauseatingly immoral things I've ever heard. Killing someone who didn’t do something to absolve people who did.

Your blood-god couldn’t come up with a better way to absolve its own anger for the sin it created and let loose into the world than to torture a human being to death? What the hell kind of god is this, and why on Earth would you worship this monster?

If your god actually wanted to resolve the problem, it would have. Since in a moment (below) you want me to believe that it’s not resolved, and I’m still at risk, then this is not even a successful torture session. We know that since Jesus was divine and just went home. Blood spell undone.

If your god is a creator god, then it could resolve the issue however it wanted to. Change the rules (that it made) about the requirement for blood magic. Or quietly come to earth as a sheep and die quietly with no spectacle. But your god needs the drama and spectacle. It needs the attention and the bloodshed and the drama and the human angst. Your god is a pathological narcissist.

What’s worse, it means you never have to make amends or seek forgiveness from the person you hurt. Jesus already died to fix the problem. You can get your forgiveness straight from your god, and never ever trouble yourself about your victim.

This is called Scapegoating. Jesus was (in the sense the story says, since there's no evidence the bible character existed at all) lumbered with the sins of the village and then executed.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scapegoat

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GHYoXHYZZ9A

The old, primitive tribal superstition was to heave the sins of the village onto a goat and then send it out into the wilderness to die of thirst and starvation.

In Xianity, it's called Vicarious Redemption, or Substitutional Atonement. It's the exact same thing. Jesus is the goat.

It means you get to pretend you're not responsible for the things you've done. You get to wash your hands of all the bad things you've ever done because someone else has been punished in your place.

Except you actually can't. You cannot ever remove your responsibility, no matter what silly blood magic sacrifice you perform. That you believe such a proud commitment to immorality, to denying personal responsibility is a good thing is just astonishing.

In any event, I don't owe your Jesus anything. Any more than you owe Odin for destroying all the Ice Giants.

Now you can argue “Well I didn’t ask him to.”. Maybe you didn’t but he did it for you even so. I’m not going to sit here and tell you that you should believe in God because Jesus died for you. I believe in free will you should come to God of your own free will.

If you looked up passive-aggressive condescension in the dictionary, you'd find this paragraph mocking it.

No, you're not telling me that I should believe in your particular god, but you are telling me about this imaginary debt you think I owe it, based entirely on your "faith," and then imply that I should do something about it or else ignore it at my own peril. That you warned me, and now I have only myself to blame. You know, for the unimaginable horrific torture your "all loving" god will inflict upon me. For not believing in it. Or acknowledging this "debt". That I never agreed to.

It's a threat. Wrapped up in smarm, but still a threat. Like the thug who comes around to "remind" the shopkeeper about their "protection" payment. "Nice soul you've got there, be a pity if it got all burned up."

You came into my chat to literally threaten me, and I'm the one who is furthering the "divide" between theists and atheists? Are you for real? You threaten people, then get sanctimonious when they reject you and recognize your threats are imaginary, then you blame them for the "divide." That you created by teating them like an escapee from your cult, rather than a fully-formed individual who isn't damaged or incomplete without your particular god. This "divide" appears to be the name you give to you not getting what you want, the result of non-believers not putting up with your arrogant shit when they don't have to. Is this how Xian love works?

Did you ask Odin to destroy the ice giants? Maybe you didn't, but he did it for you anyway. I'm not going to sit here and tell you that you should believe in Odin because he killed the Ice Giants for you. I believe in free will you should come to Odin of your own free will.

On a completely unrelated topic, did you know that Hel is an underworld realm ruled over by the Norse goddess Hel? And those who do not fight in the way of Odin end up in this cold, gloomy, depressing, melancholy realm with nothing to do for eternity? Isn't that interesting?

Tell me again how I owe someone who never existed for something he never did that I didn't ask for. Go on.

BTW, free will refutes any notion of your god having a plan. If you think your god has a plan for you, saying “I believe in free will” has just made him pfft out of existence. If you don’t understand this, consider whether you can eat anything for lunch tomorrow other than what your god already knows you’ll eat. If you can, he’s not omniscient, and there can be no plan. If you can’t, you don’t have free will.

Ephesians 1:4-5

According as he hath chosen us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and without blame before him in love:

Having predestinated us unto the adoption of children by Jesus Christ to himself, according to the good pleasure of his will,

Romans 8:29-30

For whom he did foreknow, he also did predestinate to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brethren.

Moreover whom he did predestinate, them he also called: and whom he called, them he also justified: and whom he justified, them he also glorified.

If you believe in free will, then you’re denying your god’s will, and whom he has predestined to believe and be saved.

Which is to say, your god is responsible for everybody in hell. The bible says so.

Perhaps open a dialogue between Theists and Atheists in a calm debate.

You came to me to tell me, what was it?

Religion is not an idea it is a belief there is a distinction between them.

I showed you the meaning of idea and belief, that belief is a subset of idea; a belief is an idea that is accepted as true. You then pushed on about how...

we can argue the differences between beliefs and ideals until we are blue in the face.

Except that words are how we convey meaning. And if we can’t agree on what words even mean, and you didn’t, then there’s no point. As I told you.

And you steamrolled on ahead anyway. You didn’t want to get tangled up in words actually meaning things, you needed me to subjected to your testimony - again, uninvited, unbidden - about how...

Religion is part of an identity,

Which is terrifying in itself. It makes you incapable of rationally analyzing an idea, because your personal identity is wrapped up on it. Which, of course, is what indoctrination is intended to do. So, that part’s working well.

God is also a part of this, He is inseparable from my identity.

Yikes. This is a lifelong commitment to irrationality and unreasonableness. There isn’t anything that would ever convince you that you’re wrong. You’re unable to learn, to grow, to abandon ideas and accept others, to have the joy of finding out you were wrong about something, to change your position, to seek knowledge and understanding, to pursue truth above all else, even if it’s painful.

This is like a bird cutting off its own wings and saying “this nest is my identity.”

You see that as a good thing. i find it horrifying and extremely sad. A thing you believe with nothing better than mere “faith” is “inseparable from [your] identity.”

You’re settling. This is giving up on life, it really is.

I’ve got news for you there are grey areas.

So much for the objective morality believers are so fond of.

Faith and Religion are not logical concepts they are emotional, and you can not separate the two.

Correct. And relying on your emotions is a cognitive flaw/bias called Emotional Reasoning. Which we already know are unreliable. Emotions are manipulatable, malleable and prone to misinterpretation. Unless you commit to living entirely by your emotions, you already know this is true.

https://www.psychologytoday.com/au/blog/evolution-the-self/201706/what-s-emotional-reasoning-and-why-is-it-such-problem

https://www.healthline.com/health/cognitive-distortions#emotional-reasoning

Emotional reasoning is the false belief that your emotions are the truth — that the way you feel about a situation is a reliable indicator of reality.

While it’s important to listen to, validate, and express emotion, it’s equally important to judge reality based on rational evidence.

Researchers have found that emotional reasoning is a common cognitive distortion. It’s a pattern of thinking that’s used by people with and without anxiety or depression.

So, why would I accept epistemology based on your mere emotions? Especially when someone else’s emotions say that some other god - or some other denomination’s version of your god - is “true”?

You think you’re solving the problem, but you’re not. You’re exposing all the problems with it, and why nobody should pay any attention to you. You’re agreeing that your belief is, by definition, irrational. It’s not logical and it’s not reasonable.

I’m not interested in ideas that are irrational. Especially when they’re incoherent, like a god who is “perfect” but needs worship, or is “good” but works in “mysterious ways.”

As I explained in great detail, faith can’t be used to obtain truth. Because nothing will ever falsify your faith, you’ll just sink in more faith to support it. Because other believers have faith you’re wrong and they’re right. Because if faith can lead them to believe false things that they cannot realize as false, than it can lead you to believe false things and never know it. And because there’s nothing - literally nothing - that cannot be held entirely by faith alone. Nothing so absurd, nothing so immoral, nothing so gross, nothing so weird that faith will not entirely support it.

And that you don’t get to determine their faith is not “genuine” while yours is. Especially when it amounts to you using faith to justify your faith, which is circular.

If you’re using faith, it means you don’t care about truth. And you’ve admitted it just now, in that you rely on how it makes you feel, not its truth.

Truth is demonstrated, not felt. True things are real, meaning they reflect reality, they exist in, influence and are influenced by, reality. If your thing is “true’ then it must reflect or manifest in reality in some way. If you can’t or won’t do the work to substantiate it - and it appears you feel like you’re completely immune to your Burden of Proof - then you’re also relieving me the burden of paying you any attention.

You may think what you are criticising are stupid beliefs but me and the 2.5 billion others disagree with you.

https://www.logicallyfallacious.com/logicalfallacies/Appeal-to-Popularity

It doesn’t matter how many people think your religion is true. It’s either true, or it’s not, on its own merits, not because X number of people believe a thing. Remember when only a few people thought the Earth was spheroidal? Good times.

Also, I don’t care if you disagree with me. That’s my point. I can criticize, analyzie, scrutinize and mock your beliefs. Even - and especially - if you disagree. Because confirmation bubbles and confirmation bias, like emotional reasoning, are a real thing.

It is, for example, through confirmation bias that you frame your silly bandwagon fallacy as "2.6 billion others disagree with you". When that's just another way of saying that 5.2 billion people disagree with you. Even Xianity is a minority. But it's confirmation bias that causes you to see only the "hits" and not the "misses," that more people disagree with Xianity than agree with it. Even though that's irrelevant to truth anyway.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Confirmation_bias

If that bothers you, you need to ask yourself why it bothers you that I find your beliefs to be stupid. As best as I can tell, it appears to be because you don't want other people to figure it out too.

#christianity #religion #religious logic #religious morality #religious immorality #immorality #bible #jesus christ #religion is a mental illness

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internalsealpanic · 3 years

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What’s Wrong with Superman?

Summary: Flyman is a really stupid name.

a/n: I got a little excited so here’s my entry for @redhoodssweetheart ‘s writing challenge. If you’re a fic writer, I highly recommend joining. This is for Quotes #1 This fic is based on the Superman Man of Tomorrow movie so it may not make sense otherwise.

Warnings: Reader is a bendy person so the physical descriptions will be weird and there will be some nsfw language but nothing happens.

masterlist

"What's wrong with superman?" You ask, raising your feet up over your head and resting them against Clark's wall. The blood rushes to your head but you couldn't find the energy to care, not when the work day had you drained and aching. You're just happy to stretch your limbs and contort in angles that would loosen them. You need to convince your supervisor to transfer you to a different division.

"It's kinda..." Clark waves his hand. "Yanno..."

Eloquent. You raise a brow at him telling him exactly what you thought about his solid argument.

"How about Flyman?" He says quickly.

"Ah yes, like the illustrious Batman but somehow worse." You say, turning onto your belly and nearly knocking over the things on Clark's bedside table. You shrug innocently. You shift, putting your feet over your shoulders as you think. "How about uuuuuh Captain Barbel?"

"Why?"

"Cus the guy could chuck them at people real easy." You answer simply. Clark really can't tell whether it was your excessive fidgeting or your monumental leap in logic that entertained him more.

He snorts, "That sounds like a dumb gimmick."

"So is being called Flyman." You huff.

"Careful, you're gonna hurt my feelings." Clark huffs in return, shaking his head as he grabs your favorite mug and one for himself. He has no idea how this specific mug was lucky but he's learned not to question a scientist's superstitions. Though he suspected it had less to do with actual superstition rather that you didn't want to admit that you just found the little cow-shaped mug adorable. He'll have time to tease you about it later. For now, he had to figure out this conundrum.

"If I was concerned about that, I would have pronounced Kansas properly by now." You say, sitting up to face him properly.

"What would you call him? Seriously." Clark says, resting against the kitchen counter. He's watching you with a hint of fond frustration. His leg bounces against the floor, fingers tapping on the linoleum countertop.

"Hmmmm," You purse your lips and lean forward- elbows on your lap, fingers laced together, and chin resting on your hands. "Wonder Man?"

Clark's handsome face breaks into an incredulous smile. "Pfft, you’re joking right?"

"I have never made a joke in my life." You grin, taking the cup of coffee from Clark and scooting over to make room for him. You shrug. "There is a reason I'm not in advertising but seriously I think you should just go with superman."

"And give Lois the satisfaction?" Clark asks over the rim of his mug. He raises his brow.

"Think about it."

"Rather not."

You push on, ignoring him."If you popularize it, guess who gets the credit?"

"Are you telling me to steal?" Clark gapes at you and the mischievous glint and his blue eyes make laughter bubble in your chest.

You blow out a breath into the neck of your sweater. Well, his sweater up until 2 months ago. "Nope. You're the one interpreting it that way."

"Your boss is rubbing off on you."

"Oh, don't remind me."

"How about Captain Marvel?" He suggests, wrapping around his arm around your shoulder. You can smell the caramelized sugar in his coffee. You blanch.

"Oh. So you want a lawsuit."

"No..." A complicated expression takes over his face. His lips purse to one side as he thinks. You wait patiently for his answer, snuggling up to his side. "How's it working at star labs by the way?" He says finally and you just had to love the clumsy way Clark tries to redirect conversations. He needs to get better at that if he wants to be a reporter. Then again, he's never failed to get an answer out of you with the earnest look in his eyes.

"I'm supposed to be in the engineering division, yeah?"

He nods before resting his face in your hair.

"Yeah, yeah. Him. Blegh." You wrinkle your nose and stick out your tongue, waving your hand in the air as if to shoo a thought away.

"But they stuck me with checking on that asshole biker wannabe..." You sigh.

"Lobo?" He asks, his voice rising a bit. Clark's grip in the mug tightens a bit but he has enough presence of mind not to break the mug.

"Well, did he say anything?" Clark asks, adjusting his glasses.

You squint. "My name isn't going on the paper."

"It won't." He says flat and steady. And you know you can trust him because, well, it's Clark.

You give him a crooked smile. "Nothing useful really. How much patience do you have for shitty pick up lines?"

Clark stiffens. "He was hitting on you?" He squares his shoulders. You see his jaw tighten and you think you can hear him grind his teeth. God, he's cute when he gets like this.

"He was hitting on anything with two legs."

And he was. Well, not really. You honestly couldn't really tell what his category for this thing was but you're pretty sure Clark doesn't care. He seems to care more about the fact that Lobo was hitting on you judging from the way he's borderline pulling you into his lap. You, frankly, were more concerned about what weird category you fit in to catch his eye.

"Maybe if I go with you next time..."

"You're cute Clark but I'm not sneaking you in there for a story." You pat his cheek. Clark pouts at you. You try your best not to squeal at how cute he is. You fail.

"Let me come in with you." He presses.

"Honestly, it’s fiiiiiiiiiiine. Nothing I can’t handle."

He still looks unconvinced.

Clark buries his face deeper into your hair. "Hmmmmm, he sounds like an a- a jerk." He grumbles into your hair. You will get Clark to swear at some point.

You're extremely amused by Clark's behavior. You wrap an arm around him. "Clark, he is quite literally contained in a cage I helped design. He is not getting out."

"Should I tell him I have a boyfriend and show him a picture of you?"

Clark's face goes ashen. "Don't tell me you've done that before." That would explain so much.

"Then I won't." You laugh. That sound sends butterflies fluttering in his stomach no matter how many times he's heard it.

"I’d still feel better if I could come with you." He sigh. You would be lying if you said that you wouldn't feel better with Clark accompanying you. Sure, he wasn't Heracles but Clark was no pushover contrary to the shy demeanor. But... admitting that kind of thing was... not something you're comfortable with or used to so you let it settle like the cheap coffee in your mug.

"It’s really not necessary." And Clark knows from the frequency of your heartbeat that you're lying. He knows you well enough to let it go. You kiss his cheek. "But thank you, you’re disgustingly sweet."

You kiss him again. "Sides, I think he's just bored." Your eyes brighten, a memory resurfacing. Clark watches with interest, knowing there's a 50-50 chance that it's something like the material of Lobo's shoe. "Get this he says that superman guy is a kryptonian. Sadly, when I asked him the typical anthropology question he made farting noises." You tilt your head. "Well, he did say they were a good lay and... well the super guy was hung."

Red blooms on Clark's cheeks as he sputters out a response. You squish his face with your hands. You love messing with Clark way too much. You really should feel bad that look on Clark's face was priceless.

"Oh relax Clark, we both know my type is small town dork and not man from the moon." You giggle.

Clark kind of hates you sometimes. He hates how easily you throw him off balance. Clark rights himself but he can't quite get rid of the blush dusting his cheeks. "Did he say anything else?" He asks, face still squished.

Unable to stop your giggling, you put your hands away. "Well, he called our mystery streaker a pretty boy."

"Very relevant."

"Yanno..." You drawl, taking Clark's glasses off. "yanno if you push that hair out of your face you'd look pretty good too."

Clark swats your hand away. You pout at him.

He looks at you wearily. "I like my hair how it is." He mumbles, fiddling with it.

"I'm not gonna cut it you dork. I just want proof that you have a forehead." You say, brushing some of his hair out of his face. Clark really does scream handsome when given the chance.

There's a flicker of recognition in the back of your mind that has your pulse quickening. Clark can already see the pieces falling into place, your mind whirring to get the answer.

His mind sprints to keep up and counteract the flow of your thoughts. Clark leans forward and kisses you softly. Without needing to open his eyes, he knows your mind is short-circuiting. Affection was a sure-fire way to get your mind to slow down. It was dumb but you really should be allowed to be dumb sometimes. Especially now when Clark isn't exactly sure how your feel about the mystery streaker.

You laugh your easy chirpy laugh sure but that didn't guarantee you were on board with an alien of all things. He wasn't even sure if you would think of him as any more than a test subject. No, he knew you too well to think that but there's still some part of him that isn't entirely sure and it scares him.

"Behave," he says, his face in a grin. The expression lights up his face. The smug satisfaction of finally catching you wrong-footed fills up Clark's features and shapes them into something borderline evil. "Tell me more about Lobo and his ramblings."

You shake your head. You mumble some version of “I always behave”. You know Clark's hiding something from you. You can see it in the delicate way he's looking at you. You purse your lips deciding whether this is a good time to push but in the end, you decide to let him keep his secrets for now. If Clark of all people has a reason to keep a secret then it must be important. You brush your lips against his before laying your offer on the table. "A kiss per story."

Clark stares at you. "I can live with that." Clark huffs, adjusting his glasses.

#redhoodssweethearts1.7kwritingchallenge #clark kent x reader #clark kent #superman x reader #superman imagine

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dalekofchaos · 3 years

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Why Voldemort is a terrible villain and how I’d improve Voldemort as a villain

As much as I like Voldemort, when you look back on the books. Voldemort is a terrible villain. Yes he has the Horcruxes and has loyal followers...but that’s it. In this post I will be examining why Voldemort is a terrible villain in Harry Potter and how I would improve Voldemort as a villain.

Let’s look at Voldemort’s track record

No clear motivations. The movies do absolutely nothing to flesh out Voldemort, but that's understandable, they're the movies. But even in the books, there is no clear reason for Voldemort doing any of the things that he does. During the flashbacks in the Pensive, Tom is a disturbed child who has a tendency to torture animals, lure other children to creepy caves and steal stuff - all of this is bad, yes, but why? Why is Tom Riddle "evil"? I know the explanation that the canon somewhat provides: that Voldemort doesn't know love/friendship/connection because he was conceived under the trickery of a love potion, and his mother was abused But, even if you accept that explanation, that does not justify Tom Riddle being innately evil and monstrous. Why is he racist/supremacist? If he really is a natural genius with a detachment from human emotion, shouldn't he also be detached from things like blood supremacy, ancestry and mortality? Just because he's a sociopath doesn't mean he will automatically turn into Hitler.

Wages a Wizarding war, but couldn’t even conquer his own Wizarding Nation

He couldn’t become Minister Of Magic. Instead he dicked around in Borgins And Burkes and instead wanted to become Defense Against The Dark Arts Professor.....for reasons. He could’ve used his power as Minister Of Magic to gain followers, especially the fanatic pure blood families and the impressionable Slytherins and cover for his Horcrux murders. But nooo.

When Voldemort DOES take power by force during the second Wizarding War, he does barely anything with it. Voldemort owns the government and has an army of evil. Where does he plan to launch his attack on the world? At a god damn highschool. Yes I know he attacked Hogwarts because of the last Horcrux. Didn't need to get that far if he didn't act like the world's worst Bond villain and monologued for enough time to let Harry either escape or for the Deus ex machina to arrive on que. The first two times it happens, yeah I get it. You're a villain who is up himself, shit happens. But by book 5 when he is still doing dumb shit it's unforgivable. How hard is it to issue a kill on sight order to your hordes of evil? I mean FFS you have legit werewolves on your side, who can sniff out a drop of blood miles away and yet you do nothing with them? Not only do you fail to kill a defenseless baby but you can't evil kill the kid when he's locked up in your second in commands basement.

He isn't particularly charismatic or a decent leader. He does have tons of followers, for reasons. Seriously, except for fear and opportunism I can't understand why anybody would want to fight for him. I mean, I get that he is basically magic!Hitler, but actual Hitler could at least hold speeches. Actual Hitler had arguments why his rule would be good for the German people. Voldemort doesn't. Voldemort treats his followers like shit and tortures or kills them if they aren't useful any more.

He didn't do his homework and doesn't knows the magic lore good enough. He manages to kill himself two times because of lore he really should have known about. The first time he fails to see the magic love-charm, the second time he doesn't recognizes the arcane rules of wand ownership. Those are stupid, avoidable mistakes for somebody that is supposed to be the greatest dark mage of his time.

He isn't even a particularly good mage. He manages to get statemaled by Harry and defeated by Dumbledore. He never does anything truly remarkable with magic that we haven't seen other characters do the same or better (the cave in book six is pretty good, but that's already has best showing). All we see is “AVADA KEDAVA.” Cool, I’ve seen every damn villain use that stupid fucking spell and yes it is a terrible spell.

His plans are... well, they are shit. If your plans get permanently foiled by a bunch of meddeling kids, you should think about retirement, not world domination. The plan in "Goblet of fire" only works out because of dumb luck. "Orden of phoenix" works out because of Harrys incompetence. The plan to kill Dumbledore only worked cause Voldemort used logic and had one of his followers do the work for him. The rest of his plans fail gloriously.

Voldemort's goals. He... wants to be immortal, but why? Because he's afraid of death? Why is he afraid of death? He literally spent his childhood cutting open rabbits. He excelled in all fields of academia and is arguably very intelligent; intelligence tends to negate superstition. Okay, fine; let's assume he's afraid of death. But even if we look for another explanation: maybe he wants to live forever in order to stay in power.

Voldemort wants power...Why does he want power? Why does he want to, quite literally, take over the world? It makes no sense. He has no reason to care about any of that. Even if he's prejudiced against Muggles, what exactly gives him the willpower to actually gather followers, build a legion of darkdoom evil squad and kill everyone? His motivations are never explained, and he is introduced to the story as a 2-dimensional "bad guy". Even from the 4th book onward, Voldemort is never actually fleshed out. He simply goes from bad guy to "extremely bad guy/"super fucking evil". It's shallow. It's a bad character. He isn't even a character. He has no depth, nuance, relatability or layers to him. He's just a textbook douchebag who exists simply to give the protagonists something to do, because otherwise the stories would just be about magic school.

Let's look at the closest and most obvious reflection: Adolf Hitler. It's painfully obvious that Voldemort's movement is based on Nazism. But if you read Mein Kampf, Hitler actually believed what he was doing was justified, and provided reasons for it which he thought made sense. Even if it was objectively flawed, he believed it. That's what makes a good character in fiction; even if they're actually batshit fucking insane and critically evil, you can make them relatable if you go inside their head and show the audience why they're doing what they're doing. Even if the audience doesn't agree with the character, the audience understands why the character thinks this way. Unlike Hitler's diary, Voldemort has no level of self-introspection, no actual justifications. He's a walking plot device, and that's ridiculously bad for a 7-book-long story where he's the main antagonist. I don't remember a single interaction, scene or exchange where Voldemort is shown to have any degree of self-awareness. The youngest we ever see him is when Dumbledore visits him in the orphanage, and by that point he's already evil as balls, for seemingly no reason. Even when Harry is talking to him in their final fight, Voldemort only hisses and spits out superficial threats and a shallow understanding of the events around him, and actually has no idea who he is, or why he's doing what he does. . If he were a realistic character, this lack of self-awareness would build up over time, would create self-doubt in him, and he would go through a character arc where he "found himself" and learned what he really wanted. And then, maybe he comes back and does some crazy shit, but this time he does them with glorious conviction, and has no shame in admitting it. The audience knows him now, and he's a great villain. But that's not what we got. Remember the 13-odd years Voldemort spent floating around like a puff of gas, possessing rats and squatting in Quirrel's turban? Why did his character not develop? HE HAD THIRTEEN FUCKING YEARS TO REFLECT ON HIMSELF. He literally had nothing else to do. He could've become such a complex character. Think about it: a bland, textbook villain gets cucked into infinity and now can't actually do anything but bide his time. It would clearly affect his personality, especially if it lasts 13 goddamn years. But when Voldemort is revived in book 4, he's still just "look how evil I am.exe". He had literally no character arc of any kind. That's actually impossible. No sentient human being can have the same personality, goals and motivations after over a decade of exile. He's a badly-written villain, plain and simple.

It seems like a very poor decision to make the antagonist of 7 thick books this unrelatable and bland. It also makes no sense because Rowling has written consistently excellent characters throughout the series. Why not make Voldemort a real character?

So here is how I would improve Voldemort as a villain

Motivation. So since it's universally accepted that Salazar was against Muggleorns because he grew up in a time where Wizards and Witches were being burned at the stake. What if Voldemort had similar intentions cause he grew up in a time during WWII and the Cold War and saw how powerful and dangerous the Muggles were becoming with their nuclear weapons and wanted to protect magic kind from the Muggles and viewed the Muggles invading a possibility. So he became Lord Voldemort and formed the Death Eaters to finish Salazar Slytherin’s work to protect magic kind against Muggles and Muggleborns. It could’ve started out as noble, but turned racist and evil in the end.

As Tom Riddle, he becomes the Minister Of Magic or given a position of power secondary to the Minister Of Magic. The Lord Of Magic. It’s important that prior to becoming Lord Voldemort, he should hold a position of political power within the Ministry Of Magic. In Hogwarts, it is said as a student Tom was charismatic, charming and a wolf in sheep’s clothing. So why not use all that for politics? He could use his charm and political power to turn the Ministry Of Magic against the Muggleborns and against the Muggles. He would write a book explaining in detail why he believes in what he believes and that gives him the following he needs. The Book in question would be called “Magic Is Might!” The old Pure Blood magical families and impressionable young Slytherins would follow him like moths to a flame. He could use his newfound political power to research all forms of magic and even the dark arts. He could make Horcruxes in secret. As Voldemort he would gather allies who were rejected by society like Werewolves and Giants. But despite what the Horcruxes do to his face, he could use magic to keep up appearances. He wouldn’t just be seeking to wage war with the muggles and muggleborns. First Voldemort has to take over the Wizarding world.

Treats his followers like allies. Voldemort does not use fear and the threat of death and torture on his most trusted allies. Tom Riddle’s the Knights of Walpurgis hold key positions in Tom Riddle’s administration and then the Death Eaters are born and Voldemort treats them with respect and admiration. In a sense, he treats the Death Eaters like family.

The First WIzarding War should have been about Voldemort waging war on the other Wizarding nations. This would truly show how terrifying and powerful Voldemort really is. Would also explain why the other nations did not interfere in the second war, cause they were that terrified of Voldemort. The Order Of Phoenix was barely able to win and drive Voldemort from power.

Voldemort’s fall was because he was desperate. He was ousted from power and Dumbledore, the OOTP and Aurors are on his trail. His body is failing him, so he desperately needs to create a new Horcrux. So he kills The Potters. He fully knew that Lily used the love charm to shield Harry from him. So He saw a way out. Voldemort purposefully destroyed himself so he could gain a new Horcrux.

Plus, we can have Voldemort hide the Horcruxes in the nations he conquered. So Voldemort can hide them in -Russia -Germany -America -Hogwarts -France Obviously Nagini would be by his side at all times and well Harry is the last one. For context of how Voldemort conquered these nations. Imperio, subterfuge, and mass hysteria. He took out the Wizarding governments and implanted them with his thrawls.

Make Voldemort as hated as Umbridge. Here’s how.

In my hypothetical scenario where Voldemort hides the Horcruxes in different Wizarding Nations, make 8 books. Book 7 ends with everyone graduating from Hogwarts and the fall of the Ministry.

This way, after graduation, the Ministry has fallen and it ends with the Big Seven on the run. In Book 8 they are all on the hunt for the Horcruxes. Not just for Horcruxes, but international allies to unite the Wizarding world against Voldemort. It ends with the final confrontation being at the Ministry. Voldemort's endgame plan is not just to wipe out the Muggleborns, but wiping out the Muggles. He has the Magic equivalent to a Nuclear bomb. Voldemort wants to destroy the Muggles and recreate the world in his image. Magic Is Might! He plans on using it and Harry has to stop him before it's too late

Voldemort fails because the Horcruxes are failing him. It isn’t immortality, it is only temporarily longevity and every time one of his Horcruxes gets destroyed, his body breaks down and his soul is in an even worse shape. When Nagini is destroyed, it is over. Voldemort thinks if he can kill Harry, he will live forever as the prophecy states “only one can live forever.” so he believes if he could just kill Harry, he can win. But Harry deflects his curses and sends it right back at him. Voldemort dies as he did in the book. Powerless, alone and human.

#Harry Potter #Lord Voldemort #Tom Marvolo Riddle #Anti JK Rowling

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mimiplaysgames · 4 years

Text

Beloved Memories, in Notes (Vol. IX)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: T (for sexual references) Word Count: 5,377

Summary: Aqua was drunk when she kissed him and doesn’t remember. Terra is too much of a disaster to talk to her about it. Terra is 20, Aqua is 18.

Read on AO3

A/N: Based off of a prompt @holyteapotofrussell gave me: “It’s three in the morning,” which they gave me... two years ago. *HIDES* Considering how old this outline is, it’s interesting to see how my writing has changed since the first chapter of this installment, and how much it hasn’t. There was so much that I learned from writing this specific story, and going through so many mistakes. But I have to stick by it anyway. I hope you enjoy it anyway!

~*~*~*~*~

A Tale of Landslides, Pt. 3

The following days had been sunny with the inevitable chance of random storms. A typical summer in the mountains meant for ghost stories by a fire, long hours stargazing, and indulging in lazy naps on hammocks by the creek.

As if they had time for any of that. The Mark of Mastery was now three days away (as if they spent these final moments as students productively). Inside the castle walls, every hour was tense and thick and weird.

Talking with Aqua was bust. Their conversations ended with Okay, Sure, and the worst of all: Oh. It was as though Terra had forgotten how to exist around her. Every time he remembered what happened between them, a pit in his stomach filled with acid and sunk, leaving his blood cold.

He had a semblance of a plan. For now, he was equipped with a stack of three books. Soon, he’d find an answer to one question.

He heard:

“I said, you need to wax your Keyblade with bird grease if you want to improve your air magic. You know, from their beaks.”

Terra snapped his gaze up at Ven, who sat across from him in the library. Ven was supposed to be working on an essay about Keyblade ethics in the context of drawing energy from bonds shared between people - the same one he’d been procrastinating (ignoring, in Ven’s words) for days. As expected, the only book he had open was Terra’s childhood copy of The Adventures of Robin Hood, a fox and a bear gracing the cover.

“Why are you talking about severed beaks?”

Ven scoffed. “I wasn’t. You act like I’m not here, so I made it up.”

Terra pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry.”

“Sure. And I know how to fly.”

“You’re supposed to be working.” Terra marked the last word he read with his finger. “Why don’t you tell me what you need help with?”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s up?” Ven leaned over to read Terra’s book upside down.

Terra shut it on his finger.

“It’s not like I don’t know what you’re researching.” Ven rolled his eyes and tapped a spine. “Book of Fairies? Spirits and Other Idyllic Superstitions? What do they have to do with your exam?”

“What does Robin Hood have to do with your essay? You have a deadline.”

“I bet I could convince the Master to extend it.”

“I bet you couldn’t.”

“Five munny.”

“Fifteen.”

“Ten munny.”

“Did you forget who the Master is?”

“All I gotta do is tell him how desperately I want to be there for your Mark of Mastery.” He flapped his eyelashes. “I’ll even cry a little. When I get him to say yes, you’ll be so impressed with me.” Ven shot a dubious smirk, confident and willing to hand over his allowance.

Terra clicked his tongue. “It’s your investment.”

“Do the butterflies have anything to do with Aqua?”

“Someone has to mind his own business.”

“Someone needs to stop avoiding her.”

Terra stammered. That was nowhere close to what he wanted. “I’m not avoiding her.”

“I’ll add twenty munny to the bet if you don’t leave.”

“If I don’t leave what?”

“Aqua!” Ven called, his voice a collision onto Terra’s senses, who scrambled to turn the spines of his books away from the entrance so she wouldn’t see.

It took a moment but there she appeared, her breath heavy as though she’d been dancing. “What is it?”

“Terra’s being obnoxious.”

If Terra kicked him under the table, she’d hear it. So, he held onto his pride.

Aqua glanced over, the quiver on her lips something she tried to hide. “What did he do?”

“He won’t let me read.”

She approached the table, a knowing smirk twisting across her face when she saw Robin Hood. By instinct, she met Terra’s eyes for recognition, only to let that smile fall.

Still, she took a seat beside Terra, who adopted the sudden habit of staring hard into the wood.

“We used to pretend we were the characters,” Aqua said. “Terra never let me be Robin Hood.”

Terra winced, but the memory was warm all the same. You couldn’t pull him off, was the argument he used against her, a red feather in his hair and the same wooden sword used for practice in his hand.

“You would have made a good Robin,” he murmured.

Aqua, tensing over the fact that he spoke to her, shrugged. “It wouldn’t have made sense. He was your favorite.”

The conversation choked.

Ven rolled his lips. “Did you play Maid Marian?”

Aqua tossed him a look as though she swallowed bitter tea, and said, “Of course not. I was Little John.”

“The bear?”

“Little John was the smarter one,” Aqua said, dignified as she crossed her arms. But she lost all composure as she remembered something, her proud expression collapsing into a string of chuckles. “There was this one time-”

“Not that story,” Terra moaned, digging his face into his book.

“Terra the Hood was fighting tax collectors up by the lake. I sat on a tree branch. My job was to warn him of enemies.” She sniffed. “But he tripped and fell into a goose nest, and...” She giggled. “The mother chased him all the way back to the castle.”

Ven snorted. “Brave Sir Robin.”

“Great job watching my back,” Terra said.

“I yelled out wolf hole before you blundered into it,” Aqua said, biting her grin. “It’s not my fault Robin Hood didn’t listen.”

“You pointed and laughed at me.”

“It was a good show.” She flicked his bicep.

It almost felt like they never shared a kiss.

A heaviness dropped as soon as Terra thought of the taste of her lips, sinking his gaze back down to the book cover. Brave Sir Robin, always looking like an idiot in front of her.

“I’m going to get a snack,” Ven announced too loudly, stealing the same opportunity Terra would have tried for. He didn’t offer to grab anything for anyone, and he eyed Terra ceremoniously.

“Now it’s a thirty munny deal,” he reminded Terra. As if that's any consolation.

“Is that for a bet?” Aqua asked when they were alone.

Terra straightened. “Yeah. It’s dumb.”

Her lips pulled a small, polite smile. A peace deal, pink and supple and pillowy.

“What are you reading?”

He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat as he stopped an urge to push his books further away. He could have told her something near the truth. That being near her brought a rush of thoughts he couldn’t define. That he wanted to bring her something special, something distracting to make his apology more sincere, less surgical.

That he was about to burst if he didn’t say something about it.

He should ask her (he should’ve asked her that same night) to follow him into the wilderness and track an answer to the butterflies together. Instead, he looked stupid at the worst time, with a blank mind and a dry throat.

It was only a kiss. Aqua was the same person.

“Nothing special. Just killing time,” he said, shrugging.

“Don’t be like that,” she asked softly, crossing her hands. She blinked too much, and her head hung.

Terra knew he was an idiot.

“Be like what?” He gathered the books into his arms. Denying it wouldn’t discredit it - she’s too smart for that - but he flashed a smile anyway, hoping it would console her.

Aqua nodded, not allowing herself to look at him.

“I have a lot on my mind. The exam’s coming up in a couple of days, you know?”

This time she did, grimacing.

Terra cursed himself.

~*~*~*~*~

Stars clustered in the sky that night like galaxies. Meteorites cut across the window. Terra, shirtless, stood in the kitchen, and sipped his tasteless tea.

Aqua was mad now.

Their spar session had ended with a spat. After hours of failed attempts to break through her ice barriers, she knocked him down to his knees.

Stupid, stupid ice barriers. He proudly performed the dumb mistake of insulting her when it was really his own technique that needed the pounding.

He’d been failing bad lately, and getting worse. Worse when the Mark of Mastery was unforgiving already. How was he going to pass now?

Aqua entered the kitchen, scoffing when she saw the mug in his hand. She waved her arm in annoyance. “You didn’t leave any for me.”

Terra leaned against the marble island where she’d knead dough, and smirked.

“Maybe if you tried getting a hit on me,” she said, stepping close enough to kiss, her nose pointed, uptight, high. “Then you wouldn’t have to act like everything is my fault.”

“Everything is your fault.”

“Not your bad cup of tea.”

“You must have cursed it. Where were you during the fifteen seconds I looked away from the kettle?”

“Tell me one thing.”

He waited for her question, but the chill of vapor floated from the floor. Another damn ice barrier erected between the two of them, thick and blurring her image.

“Tell you what?” He punched the ice with flames in his fists, but it wouldn’t crack.

She didn’t reply. Blue eyes wide. Pink lips puckered to the ice. She melted a layer.

Terra pressed his forehead onto the barrier to make sure he saw correctly.

“Try again,” she scolded.

He railed the ice, a swirl of flames combusting onto the surface. Nothing. He growled.

“Do you really want me to be the one to break through?” she asked, her lips blowing smoke on the ice, inching closer.

No. Yes. He didn’t know what to expect when it happened, but she was coming, her face the only thing he could see and the only thing he wanted.

They finally touched, lips to lips. She said nothing. He only had his hands exploring her bare back, pulling her hips to dig into his.

The way her body folded into his was an unbearable pressure. Nothing satiated the hunger for more. He grabbed her chest. It wasn’t soft.

In place was something leathery, long, strong, wrapped around his hands. The tip of it suckled his thumb. An elephant trunk.

She gasped at the lewdness.

The trunk lurched from his grip and slapped him so hard he woke up.

Warmth churned in his chest. Where was he? In his room, not the kitchen. His arms wiggled as he failed to lean on them, his torso the weight of a ton. He felt good, like a relaxed breeze, but exhausted as though he’d taken a punch to the gut.

Wetness and stickiness pooled in his pants.

“Not again,” he groaned into his pillow.

His body protested as he stood up. Dragging himself to the bathroom, he threw off his clothes and scrubbed the crotch of his pants, cursing every single stitched fiber.

He thought of her, and his stomach jumped with the urgency of a child awaiting punishment. This was why they stopped wrestling, why they didn’t share a bed anymore: do the right thing and avoid the possibility that he’d hump her in his sleep. It wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy these dreams - well, with exceptions - but they made it difficult to face her in the morning.

After a cold shower, he slipped into clean, dry pajamas.

In a couple of hours, the sun would rise. One of the books laid open on his desk. He found them: small, white butterflies that were transparent upon closer inspection, their glow so bright it only gave an impression of a shape.

Terra should go back to sleep but didn’t know if he was capable now. He shook away every flash of an image of her undressed. He wanted her. But he wanted his best friend back. He wanted lots of conflicting things and right now he had neither.

Damn it, it was getting worse.

If they weren’t on odd terms, he’d march to her room and ask her to sneak into the forest with him, no matter the time. Usually, the worst he’d catch from her was a sour mood, but he found them. Small, white butterflies. No better timing. No better way to face her wrath than suffering it half-asleep.

Aqua’s door silently peeked open, like she made the effort to oil it. Her bedroom was prim as usual. Her comforter tucked tightly around her body, slick and even everywhere else. Through the darkness, Terra noticed shaved shards of colored glass on her workbench, orange, blue and green, and narrowly avoided bumping into them.

He gently rolled her shoulder. “Aqua?” he whispered.

She didn’t respond. He sat at the edge of the mattress, and shook her harder. “Aqua.”

When she woke, she threw him a squint before turning the lamp on her nightstand. She mumbled, “What’s wrong?”

“There’s something I want to show you.”

She blinked slowly. “What?”

“In the forest.” He snorted.

Aqua snatched her clock, a frustrated smile spreading on her face. “It’s three in the morning.” Her voice was hoarse.

“It’s noon somewhere else.”

Blinking a few more times, Aqua had the sudden awareness of who was sitting on her bed. Terra knew what to expect. She scrambled for her pillow and beat him on the head with it. “Now you’re talking to me? After days of acting like I was a plague?”

Terra caught the pillow before it could hit him a sixth time, his heart choking itself.

“Couldn’t afford to get infected,” he said with care, cocking a smirk. “Girl cooties, doctor’s orders. I’m sorry.” He watched her use all the weight in her body to wrestle the pillow out of his hands, her head thrown all the way back. “Cute,” he said of her failed efforts.

Aqua glared at him and twisted the pillow for a better grip. She hated the term when it applied to her, but Terra had always thought of her this way. Seeing how hard she was trying, like a kitten bunny-kicking a tired dog, how could he think otherwise?

A twang of guilt stabbed his heart.

He let go and she toppled backwards. She cursed under her mutters. Too tired for this nonsense.

She studied him before she scoffed. “What’s in the forest?”

“Magic.”

“Take yourself, then.”

“It’s something you’ve never seen before.”

She paused, stopping herself from throwing him out of her room.

“If you promise to give my best friend back,” she said softly.

Hearing that stung exactly as he deserved. “Of course. I’m sorry.”

“You said that already.” She smiled anyway, refusing his help in getting out of bed.

Her hands reached for the ceiling as she stretched. This lifted her shirt and exposed her stomach. Her pants were low enough to show how her pelvis dipped inward near the hip, shaping a subtle pouch just below her belly button amid strong muscle underneath.

Heart now hyper, Terra forced himself to look away.

“I’ll get Ven,” he said, his voice trembling. He begged the stars that she didn’t notice.

Ven only agreed to get up if he was carried. He snored on Terra’s shoulder, piggybacked out of the castle through the front entrance, past the waterfalls, and downhill into the furthest clearing where the castle lanterns met the border of dark woods.

Close to the ground danced what looked like stars, bobbing up and down as they fluttered in mismatched patterns.

“Are we here?” Aqua asked, hushed as if to avoid disturbing the lights.

Ven let out a noise of awe, very much awake. Terra straightened to shake him off his shoulders. Not that Ven minded - he was the first to approach the lights, an apprehensive hand reaching out as one zigzagged around his fingers.

“Wish fairies,” Terra said, which encouraged Aqua to step forward. “Some worlds call them prayer sprites, or ghouls.”

Ven laughed, herding a group as he chased them by the creek.

Terra planned to feel proud of this moment, but Aqua shot him a cynical look. “Is this what you were researching?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Took me a while to find the right books. They travel in between worlds, appearing once every fifty years for a couple of days before moving on.”

“Does that mean they’re good luck?” Ven asked.

“They’re like shooting stars, they grant your wishes. They have a reputation for being a sign of significant change...” Terra was rambling and he lost sight of why he was there. None of the information moved Aqua, who crossed her arms. “It can’t be a coincidence they appeared just before our exam,” he finished with mediocre finesse.

She stepped closer to him. “Did you think bringing me out here would make everything between us okay?”

If Ven heard what she said, he did an excellent job not showing it. He flopped onto the ground, his legs spread wide. Some of the wish fairies gathered closely to him, rolling in his palms.

Terra brushed one hand through the hair on his neck. “I hoped so,” he murmured.

She sighed, the smallest smile coming up as she watched Ven play.

“Are you ready to talk?”

It was Terra’s turn to sigh. He was desperate, but now that the moment was here, he found he wasn’t ready to jump this chasm. The kiss seemed like a swamp, set up to drown them both. The feelings he had for her were disorganized at best, one voice begging to touch her and the other wanting to escape somewhere where she couldn’t find him for a decade. They were mean and juvenile. Hopeful and hopeless. If he was a worthy person, that kiss wouldn’t be destroying him now.

“I don’t compare to you,” he said, his voice low and shaky, regretful of every syllable that passed through his teeth.

“That’s what’s bothering you?” She leaned forward, forcing Terra to look at her.

She didn’t allow him to reply, her body trembling with earnestness and confusion all the same. “You nearly pulverized me the other day. You… You’re wonderful- A wonderful Keybearer.” She shook her head, suddenly gawking at the horizon. “I’m not above you or better or… How could you think that? We’re equals. We’ll always be,” she said with fragile confidence, as though she was responding to doubt.

When she finished, she deflated. It gave Terra the impression that there was something else on her mind as well.

Strangely, her words didn’t do much to help him feel better. She was always one to lift him up, and he did the same for her for so many years. Now they just seemed rehearsed, the reality of an exam that would test how far they’ve come looming over their shoulders.

He wanted to believe they were equals.

“You’re not afraid of the exam?” he asked.

She inhaled, eyes hard on the grass. Ven stopped playing, idle on his hands as the wish fairies danced on his legs.

“I’m afraid of change,” she said, bracing her fingers on her lips as though the words slipped.

“What does that mean?”

Aqua hugged herself, her voice distant. “We’ve known nothing except training. I knew this day was coming, but it seemed like a dream. Now it’s here.”

“It is a dream. We’ve shared it.”

“Yeah.” She breathed. “But what about the after? We’ll have different responsibilities. Separate missions. I know that’s the point, but what if we don’t see each other anymore?”

“That won’t happen.” Terra swallowed. The Master did all of his duties alone, no friends to speak of.

She pursed her lips. Terra wanted to kick himself. She needed her best friend. Now. Tomorrow. Yesterday. What in the world was he doing instead?

“I’m an idiot,” he said.

“Should I even reply?”

“I shouldn’t have... There was just... One other thing that was on my mind.” She listened. He wished she would prod him. “The night of the feast, you…” He scoffed. “You got drunk.”

Her eyes widened.

“It’s kind of crazier than that.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “You kissed me.”

Aqua caught her mouth open.

But the gasp Terra heard wasn’t hers - it was Ven’s, who dropped his jaw and took in air as though he had witnessed his lifetime’s greatest scandal.

“Do you mind?” Terra spat.

Ven snapped his mouth shut and turned away.

“I’m so sorry, Terra,” Aqua said, horrified. Her cheeks turned rosy. “I’m sorry. Were you upset with me?”

Terra expected her to be penitent, but this - did she regret it? His heart sunk. “It’s fine,” he said, stopping himself from embracing her. “It wasn’t a big deal. The dumbest thing ever.”

Aqua held her breath. She looked hurt. Did he say something wrong? Was he supposed to make it out to be important?

“I mean,” he forced a laugh. “It felt nice.”

She brought her hand to her chest and gaped. Oh no.

“But it was nothing. I’m being very stupid.”

She pouted.

What was he supposed to say?

“You didn’t answer my question,” Aqua breathed. “Did it upset you?”

“No.” He didn’t sound convincing. The kiss was awesome. Stop the dreams, I beg you. “I mean it. I didn’t know if it meant anything, or how to act afterward, and I think I made it worse than it was. There’s nothing else.”

Nothing else. How it hurt to say.

She didn’t nod. “Promise me we’re okay?”

“Better than that. I promised to bring me back.”

Aqua seemed relieved. Much more relaxed in her shoulders. But something was still off. Her eyes went somewhere else, somewhere that made her sad. Terra only saw a flash of it before she picked herself up and smiled. It wasn’t natural.

Ven was still listening - he didn’t say anything, but he shook his head in disapproval.

Things were supposed to be fixed by now. Wish fairies fluttered near. Terra felt an unfamiliar warmth radiating from it, a magic he didn’t recognize. Holding out a hand, he let it sit. An outline of wings glowed and dimmed, swirling patterns knitting across.

“What did you wish for?” Aqua asked. One sat in both of her hands.

Her. He let himself take one very selfish moment in the vicinity of a power far greater than him despite that he could crush it with his fingers. He prayed it knew that he didn’t have bad intentions. He wished for her.

“That I pass the Mark of Mastery,” he said.

For someone who believed you had to work to make your dreams come true, that was the one time he actually sounded believable.

“What about you?”

She passed him a glance before shifting her gaze back to her visitor. “Oh. The same.”

He lobbed his hand and the wish fairy panicked, hovering close to his face. It was like it wanted him to take a message. He nearly leaned forward to hear, as silly as it made him feel, when he felt Aqua’s head on his bicep, testing it for the best spot.

“You owe me the very least of being my pillow,” she giggled.

He could put his arm around her. He weighed the possibility, but opted to watch the way her eyelids resisted and lost the fight to stay open.

“Can you guys get a room?” Ven called.

Aqua snapped, a deep crimson staining her cheeks. “Ven!”

It was enough to make Ven nervous, shakily getting on his feet. The wish fairies scattered. “Wh- What are you going to do?”

She summoned Rainfell, a chill building in the air. “I need target practice.”

“You can’t do that to me.”

“I suggest you survive what I plan to do.”

Whatever Ven felt transformed into an impish grin. “Catch me first.”

He ran laps as Aqua swung her Keyblade and made ice chunks implode. She missed. “Stand still.”

“I’ll tell the Master!”

Aqua was slow to respond.

Ven launched himself up behind her. “Death to taxes!”

He knocked her to the ground, holding a firm grip around her shoulders. She was no Terra, not that much taller than Ven and surely not bigger. She attempted once to stand up, but she collapsed, crushed by his weight on her back. Her laughter lacked strength, a small bird’s song.

The sound of it hit Terra hard. He couldn’t shake off the gnawing fear that he let something precious slip through his fingers. That she was lost forever or that she was never his to begin with.

“Ven, I’m tired,” she begged.

“How about you promise me something?”

She responded with a slap that landed nowhere, a giggling Ven shuffling away. Aqua nestled in the grass, sighing, as though all she needed were sheets and a pillow.

The least he could do was carry her. Taking her head on one arm and roping her knees with the other, Terra picked her up. She didn’t protest - she had to be dead tired not to - and instead clung onto his shoulders. She nuzzled her face into his neck, hiding her face away from the glare of the lanterns. Terra couldn’t help but notice her smell, a flowery sweat with a dash of perfumed soap. Vanilla? She was soft; his dream didn’t do her justice. He preferred it this way, though, over her being so far away, even at arm’s reach.

Ven did him the favor of not saying anything stupid as they walked back to the castle. He chatted instead about his wish to see the worlds - something Terra was sure would happen one day, as soon as the Master deemed him old enough to. Aqua may have listened. Her breath slowed but she kept a strong grip on Terra.

“We still share the same dream, right?” she murmured when they got to her room. Ven waited outside - there was an implication there, but Terra chose to ignore it.

“Yeah.” Terra inhaled, her warmth the only thing in his mind.

Her face left his neck, something he sorely missed. Standing up, Aqua held his elbow, glancing at his lips before looking back up at him. She nervously pushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

“You said it felt nice.”

He froze, his tongue thick. “It- It was,” he stammered.

Her eyes darted around the room, locking over her colorful glass work in progress. “There’s something we should talk about.”

“Okay. Whatever you want.”

“After the exam, I mean.” She fumbled with her fingers. It was strange to see her so unsure. Unbreakable Aqua. “We have too much going on right now.”

“Of course.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly.

“You okay?” he asked, brushing her hair with his fingers.

“If you are, I am.”

That again. “I told you, I’m fine.”

She squeezed him before letting go. Her hand smoothed the wrinkles of his shirt, splaying on his pecs. Her smile was tense. Brave.

“Thanks,” she said. “They were lovely.”

Terra gently closed the door behind him as she retired to bed. Ven frowned. Like steam about to wheeze out of metal, he flipped a look at Terra on the verge of sputtering a lecture.

“You guys are ridic-”

Terra clamped a sharp hand on Ven’s mouth, picking his body up at his hip like carrying a log. Protests, insults, and sneers were muffled. Flailing kicks bumped the backs of Terra’s knees. They didn’t have much of a punch, though.

When Terra entered Ven’s room, he had to stop. A warm, slimy brush grazed his palm.

“Ven! Gross.”

“You deserve it.”

Terra wiped his palm on his pants - he wasn’t going to let Ven go that easy.

It wasn’t the same as throwing boulders for exercise, what with Ven being heavier than some and less cooperative, but Terra kept a firm hold on Ven’s thrashing body, lifting him high in the air. Ven still tried to wiggle free. Bless his heart.

Terra threw Ven onto the bed, who bounced before he settled.

“You need to be told a thousand times over: You’re an idiot,” Ven said, fixing his hair.

“Go to sleep.”

“Did you expect things were going to go differently?”

Terra stopped at the door. “What do you mean?”

Ven grasped his forehead in disbelief. “You didn’t notice? You rejected her.”

“I did not.” Hope tasted sour in his mouth.

“Seriously, you flat out made her think that nothing was going to happen between the two of you at all.”

“What do you want me to say?” Terra whipped over his shoulder.

Ven wasn’t offended. If anything, he was amused, pleased with himself that he had Terra’s attention. His bedsheets were messy, and he kicked his legs under. “Anything. Something that sounds like the truth.”

Terra sighed with exasperation. Something like the truth meant the thought of her traveling to other worlds without him pricked the tiniest bit. It was the thought of her meeting new people. The thought of her sleeping in someone else’s bed made him nauseous. And he had to let her just to see her smile.

“We’re both very stressed.” Terra shrugged, pushing statues and books from other worlds off the top of Ven’s dresser, leaning his elbow on the surface. “It’s complicated.”

Ven rolled his eyes. “Come on. Give me something real.”

Something like the truth. Terra smirked. “She’s hot.”

Shock first. Disgust melted Ven’s outgoing expression into the horror of witnessing a scene he didn’t want to see.

“Ugh, why would you tell me that?” He covered his ears before realizing it was too late already. “I thought you cared about me, man, I’m never gonna heal from this.”

Watching Ven squirm and mutter indecencies was a welcome amusement, but it didn’t last long. Terra took a seat at the foot of the bed, tucking one leg in and crossing his arms. Something like the truth gave him very little about this to find funny.

For years he kept it to himself, and he was plenty fine with that. Never did he expect a day would come where he would hate that fact.

“I love her.”

The agony washed away from Ven’s face in a blur, his head raising from his hands. He nodded. Terra let himself wallow, appreciative that Ven understood how serious he meant it. That he did not have to explain himself. That there was some quiet.

“Thanks for not treating me like a little kid,” Ven said softly.

Tears tickled the back of Terra’s eyes and he quickly braced them with his arm before they fell. “No problem.”

“Will you tell her?”

Silence. “I don’t know.”

“You have to.”

“It’s the worst timing.” He couldn’t take her best friend away from her. “The Mark of Mastery is so close. We should be studying.”

“Then tell her after. At least it’d be off your chest.” That same, twisted grin that made Ven look like a sock puppet crept back up. “I think you’d like the answer she’d give you.”

Blush cooked under Terra’s cheeks. He jabbed a finger at Ven’s face. “You’re not going to say a thing.”

“I won’t… if you promise you will.”

He didn’t want to take the bait. But it was tempting. A surge of foolish bravery birthed from nowhere heated his body. “Okay,” he whispered.

Ven was pleased with himself. That happened too much. “You owe me thirty munny, by the way.”

“Shut up and sleep.” Terra stood up.

“You’re still paying me tomorrow.”

“Make me.”

“Where’s your honor?”

“Up my ass.”

Ven waved his hand, as though he was commemorating art. “The tragic life of a best friend gone bad. Starring Terra Butt-Picker.”

“And Ven, the Destitute Boob.”

The hallway outside was still, but alight from the moon that glowed through Terra’s bedroom door. Telling Ven released a pressure akin to a valve loosening. At least someone validated Terra. At least he wasn’t crazy. Half of him considered knocking on Aqua’s door one more time. Get it out of the way. See if what Ven said was true. The other half knew better.

The clock was ticking and he had already wasted a day. Aqua’s door would still be there after the exam.

Terra planned to pay most of the munny. Terra planned to take her to a world with lots of fireworks, where the colors could make her smile and he could finally say it. It’d be perfect.

It was a comforting thought.

A/N: This chapter makes references to Disney’s Robin Hood (1973).

#terraqua #terra #aqua #terqua #kingdom hearts fanfiction #ventus #kh fanfic #i really dreaded publishing this one #because of the mistake of like #not really resolving it within this collection i guess?#but there's more i promise!#my fic

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honestlyfragile · 4 years

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Jinxed - Bang Chan

Pairing: Bang Chan x Female reader

Genre: fluff, crack, winter!au

Wc: 3.1k

Summary: Chan had always had a thing for knick knacks, and you’re just right on season. But are refunds possible? Or will he just have to deal with being… jinxed?

Your novelty shop was a tradition passed onto your family for decades. It was open all year round but since Christmas was around the corner, it was more active than ever. You sold items that were brand new, and some antiques that were either donated, or preserved stocks that haven’t been sold in years.

Ever since winter break, your mother certainly took the chance of asking you to watch the store this time, and you couldn’t really turn her down. Besides. it wasn’t that hard to do so. You would just punch the items on the cash register, then it’s sold. Pretty easy, right? Except for when customers have way too many questions. Especially for the antique items. Questions that go as far as the origin of the item, which you should know of. Gladly, every single donated item had its own story to tell.

It was a few minutes before your lunch break, but just as you were going to put up the “On Lunch Break” sign, a boy with ash blonde hair with a faded brown undertone wearing a thick, black leather jacket with a red knitted scarf entered the store. His eyes slowly wandering from left to right as soon as the chimes on the door tingled. You sigh, but you had to entertain them. Your lunch could wait.

“Good day! How can I help you?” You smile.

“Uh, yes good day to you too,” he awkwardly greets, and you give him a nod.

“Looking for anything in particular?”

“Oh i was hoping to buy a snow globe.” He rubs his cold hands together, his pale skin turning red.

“We have a lot of those here, do you prefer new ones or antiques?” You suggest.

“Antiques? Those seem cool, they are still in good condition, right?”

“Of course they are. Let me show you where it is.” You exit the cash register and lead him into the section of the well preserved antique snow globes. “Some of these go way back fifty years ago. But they are a bit pricier the older they are.” You give him a heads up.

“That should be fine. Fifty years you say? May I take a look at that?” His eyes light up, you start to think that maybe he did have a thing for collecting these kind.

You scan the selection and carefully reach for the one that had an intricately carved bronze base, while the globe had a small Christmas village on it. With both hands, you hand it over for him to observe.

“Wow.” He lightly shakes it to make the snow flakes float around. “May I know the origins of this one?” He says, eyes still glued to the knick knack.

“That one is from England. It was donated to us.”

“Interesting. How much is it?” He looks at you this time, and notices your nametag.

You couldn’t help but smile back at the excitement of this boy. “It’s a hundred and fifty dollars.”

His eyes widen, but doesn’t complain. “Consider it sold.”

You carefully take the item from him, and go back to the cash register. You get it a nice box and tie it with a red ribbon, for the design and security of the package. “Here you go, thank you for the purchase.” You smile and hand it to him.

“Thank you, ____.” He smiles, turns his back and leaves the store. You could finally have your lunch.

It was kind of him to have taken note of your name, but you never really got his. But he was just a customer anyways.

----

Chan arrived home and ever so carefully took out the item he had purchased from your store. He lightly tugs on the red ribbon that you had beautifully knotted around the box, and they slowly fall on the sides. He opens it and cautiously slips his quite large hands into the box, and he could barely fit it inside. Still, he tried to grip the glass ball and once he had gotten a hold of it, he flips it over with care. Bothered by the fingerprints that he left on it, he took it with both hands and fogged up the glass with his warm breath. He wipes it with his sweater paws and it went back to its crystalline form. Satisfied, he shakes it to make the snowflakes float around and places it on his bedside table, where his lamp shade was also located.

He smiles, pleased with what he just acquired, which he thought was a rare item. It was, and he had absolutely no idea what it might bring him.

----

The weather was more frigid than usual, it was zero close to negative. He had checked all of his windows if they were tightly shut, and they were. He shudders, and rubs his palms together and warms it with his breath. He tries to turn the heat up, because the temperature indoors most certainly wouldn’t do.

“What the heck?” He fumbles with the heater, which didn’t want to turn on. Even if it was very much plugged into the mounted outlet on the wall. He unplugs it, then plugs again. But it still didn’t work. “The power couldn’t be out, the lights are fine, the others are working too..” he pouts and scratches the back of his head.

Setting aside the busted appliance, he thought that maybe he could just eat and drink something warm, like hot chocolate and some spicy ramen. He pours hot water onto his mug and mixes in the dark cocoa powder and adds two tablespoons of brown sugar. The scent and aroma kissing his nose. He lifts the mug onto his lips, and carefully takes a sip— it was too hot. He got startled because his tongue got stung by the burning sensation, and at the same time, some of the drink has also spilled on his clothes. “Shit.” He mumbles, frustrated. He couldn’t even enjoy a cup of hot chocolate without something unfortunate happening. Maybe his luck with making ramen would be fine, he’s done this a hundred times, what could possibly go wrong?

Now more cautious than ever with his actions, he gets a cooking pot and fills it halfway with water. He grips it tightly, just in case the water would want to suddenly leap out of the pot, right? Safe. The pot made it to the top of the stove, and he sighs in relief. He turns up the heat, setting it to high and impatiently waited for it to boil. He was freezing.

Chan had his own way of making ramen, he learned it from a former room mate. He puts the seasoning powder first and lets it simmer before he boils the noodles. He was doing so well until the gas stove had suddenly just stopped heating the food. The fire had disappeared, and his noodles weren’t even soft enough to be eaten yet. He tries to stay calm, and turns the knob of the stove over and over again, but no sign of ignition. He ran out of gas.

“You have got to be kidding me.” his palms rest on the marble counter, the cold sensation hitting his skin and he flinches. He curses to himself, he has never been this unlucky before.

He had no choice, he couldn’t just throw the meal away. He got his electric kettle and hoped that the noodles would continue to cook there. He transfers the half cooked ramen to the small opening of the kettle and it slightly spills on the side, but thankfully, he made it work.

“Who eats ramen that was cooked in a electric kettle? Psh.” He shakes his head in disbelief, but eats it anyways.

As he quietly tried to enjoy his meal, his head uplifts to look at his wall calendar, thinking that it might have been Friday the 13th or he might have stepped on a crack on the pavements on his way home. His bad luck had to come from somewhere. And to his surprise, it was. December 13th, 2019, Friday. And for once, he had believed that it all made sense. It was just Friday the thirteenth.

-----

Chan woke up the next day, not sure if he felt lucky or not. The first thing he does is get his phone from his side table, his eyes barely even opened. Before he could even read the time, his phone drops on his face, and hits his nose, hard. “Jesus!” He rubs the bridge of his nose, now quite red from the impact of the gadget. He runs his hands through his hair and carefully stands and stretches. He walks over to a safe spot, making sure that his limbs won’t knock anything over. He successfully does his push-ups. He walks over to the blank wall beside his desk and does a handstand. So far, so good. He huffed, and does a couple handstand push-ups, then carefully plops down.

He heads over to his desk to shake the snow globe that he bought, takes his small time admiring the details of what was inside, then sets it down once again. He goes to the bathroom and washes his face with a cleanser as he lathers it lavishly. By the time that he tried to turn on the sink again, there wasn’t any water coming out of it. He opens his eyes as a reflex, totally forgetting that he still has soap in his eyes, causing it to sting. And as another reflex, he rubs his eyes only to find out that the hand he used was covered in foam as well. He stomps his foot, nothing has ever went his way ever since he got home from your store. The only way that he could possibly remove all the residue on his face was to use the drinking water he had, which was an absolute waste. As the saying goes, “When ill luck begins, it does not come in sprinkles but in showers.”

Chan started to think that maybe something else had been bringing him this horrible luck. Many Friday the thirteenths have passed in his whole 23-year old life but he has never had it this bad. Actually, he could not recall the last time where he was running out of luck. Chan wasn’t the type of person to believe in superstitions that much, but the shower of unfortunate events made him believe that it wasn’t just all a coincidence.

He sat in front of his desk, plopping down on his swiveling chair. He runs his hands through his hair and goes in deep thought. Again he glances at the snow globe. He crosses his arms. “Could it be?” he shakes his head, “no, no, it can’t it’s a snow globe what can it possibly do?” He pauses. “But what if it is? Should i go back and ask for a refund or would that be too stupid?” He raises his eyebrows and puts his hand under his chin. He was literally having a conversation with himself at this point and it was hilarious.

He abruptly stands up, causing him to get dizzy. He rubs his temples and proceeds to grab his coat, he was going back to your store. He got the box that was used for the snow globe and even the ribbon, of course he didn’t know how to tie it as good as you did, nonetheless he tried to get the package to the original stage that it was in.

It had been snowing a handful outside but it was still safe to drive. He places the package on the passenger’s seat and even blocks it with a seatbelt. “It could have been you. You’re the one who’s bringing me bad luck. You can’t fool me with how good you look.” He glances over the item, and proceeds to drive. The light had been yellow and he tried to beat it, unfortunately he was caught and halted onto the side. He was given a driving ticket. His bad luck was a whole avalanche.

He arrives at the store, practically storming in. You were surprised to see the boy again, but the smile on his face has definitely vanished. “May I help you?” you look at him, puzzled.

He arrives at the counter and sets down the item. “Yes i would like a refund.”

“We don’t do refunds sir I’m sorry. But is the item damaged? Why would you want to make a refund?” You questioned, surprised because no one has ever asked a refund from your store, for as far as you could remember.

“No, it’s perfectly fine. Physically.” He looks down on his feet, his ears turn red.

“Then I don’t seem to understand the problem here sir.” You were still very much confused.

“It’s just, i don’t want it anymore.” He stutters and purses his lips in embarrassment, he couldn’t get himself to say that it was because he thought that it was bringing him bad luck.

“I told you, we don’t do refunds. And what’s with the reason that you have? That’s not very sensible.” You raise your eyebrows, like you knew that he wasn’t telling you something.

“Please I can’t really take this thing home anymore” he pleads but it was still very much ineffective.

“Not until you tell us why you don’t want it anymore. I clearly remember how excited you were when you got it.” You look at him in disbelief.

“It brings me bad luck!” he blurts out, and bites his lips. He fidgets with his cuticles.

“It what?” you couldn’t help but laugh, and you knew that it was impolite to do so. But it didn’t make sense to you at all. But you purse your lips right away.

“You heard me. I’m not saying it again.” He looks down, his ears red from being flustered, and fidgets with his cuticles once again.

“Okay let’s have a deal then, you leave that item here for a day and see if anything changes. Also, if you don’t come back then I won’t be giving you your money.” You shrug, hoping to have made a decent deal with this bothered young man.

He takes a deep breath and doesn’t make eye contact. As if he did not want to agree. “Fine.” he finally lets out, and you smile.

“So it’s settled then?” You get the package from him and store it somewhere for safe keeping. You could not believe you had just agreed to this boy’s request. He was cute anyways, totally harmless.

Instantly, Chan was in a better mood. He just felt like he was lucky again, or at the very least he was back to normal. He smiles at you, and for the first time, it was blinding. Like the whole atmosphere of the store has changed. You were stunned, you could barely hear what he was saying.

He waves his hands in front of your face, and you snap out of it. “___ hello?” He calls you by your name once again and you swear it has never sounded that good. “I’ll be coming back yeah? Thanks for letting me work out this situation of mine.” He clicks his tongue, and winks. Before you knew it, he was out of your store.

-----

It was something about him returning the item that made you feel a sudden change, whether it was in you or amongst your surroundings. For some reason, you have looked forward to seeing him again, when back then you could not have cared less. Getting a crush on a customer wasn’t so practical now, was it?

Business is booming today. You watch people go in and out of the shop but the one person you hoped to see didn’t come. You anticipated his return because for the first time, you looked forward to working your shift. But you still never got his name. Good old no name.

But just when you were about to wrap things up and close the store, he catches up to the entrance. He breathes heavily and pants, the white December air escaping is lips. His throat is dry, so he swallows before he speaks. “Look, wait is it too late to get that refund?”

You sigh, you were about to lock the door already. “Well, technically yes. But since you made the effort, i’ll go and open for a bit again.” You try to hide your smile as you turn your back, but you knew that he did the same. The lights were back on and you head to the register. “So, were you lucky today?” you laugh, as if it were to be teasing him of his absurd reason yesterday.

“Y-yeah. Pretty lucky. I mean look i made it whole today.” He straightens his coat and brushes off the snow.

“If you were lucky, you wouldn’t have been late today.” you chaff, shaking your head.

“That’s a different story okay! I had to attend to something” he reasoned out.

He was adorable. You couldn’t deny that. But you loved to see him all defensive. “Okay, fine. Here you go. I’m not telling my mother about this refund so let’s just pretend it never happened or else i’ll get in trouble.” You take the cash out of the register and hand it to him.

“Your mother? Why?” He asks out of curiosity.

“We own the place so yeah. This is basically breaking the rules…” you trail off. “Anyways. I guess i won’t be seeing you again since the whole thing is sorted out now.” You don’t exactly know if you shoot your shot with what you just said.

“Who says we’ll just see each other here?” he smirks and you were taken back. Your cheeks flush bright red. He caught on.

“I work here, not really much free time with me.” you fumble with the closest thing you could get your hands on, which was a pen with a red fuzzy ball on top.

“I’m going to test my luck one last time today” He rubs his hands together and takes a deep breath.

“Huh?”

“Where are you going after this? Like after you close the store.”

“Uh, home?”

“Do you want to… perhaps get some coffee with me? Or hot chocolate, only if you’d like.” He smiles, and you’re weak on the knees.

“I’d love to.” Your cheeks were flushed but you didn’t care, he actually asked you out!

“Well I guess that’s enough luck for today. Shall we go?” He offers, but you had one last question in mind.

“I don’t even know your name.” You playfully roll your eyes and cross your arms.

“Chan. Or Chris, or… cutie whatever floats your boat.” He giggles and it was music to your ears.

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preservationandruin · 3 years

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Rhythm Of War Liveblog Part One, Part 1 (Chapters 1-2)

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On to Part One of Rhythm of War, after I finish screaming at the ghost of Gavilar Kholin. Actually, we can’t wait for that, I’m never going to be done screaming at the ghost of Gavilar Kholin.

Our POVs are Kaladin, Shallan, Navani, Venli, and Lirin--so Kal’s family is coming back to prominence, I guess. It’s a short update, but I gotta go to work.

Lirin talks about the ethics of continuing a hopeless fight, Syl lets loose an “I told you so” first thing, we see a new and terrifying variant of Fused, I come up with a new, more accurate name for the Sons of Honor; Veil finally gets kidnapped; I start getting philosophical about the ethics of continuing a hopeless fight; and Kaladin organizes an airlift.

Epigraphs for this part seem to be a lecture that Navani gave on how to trap spren in fabrials, so that’s cool.

Alright, so our timing here is a year after the fall of Alethkar, and Herdaz has been next on the Voidbringers’ target list. They’ve been fighting the entire time, but the voidbringers have intensified their assault and now refugees are pouring into the villages in Alethkar; Lirin is insisting on examining everyone as they come in, making sure that he can find people who need treatment early. The leader of Hearthstone now is Brightness Abiajan--from the name, I’m assuming she’s one of the singers.

Also, apparently someone is coming through this line today that Lirin is anxious about. Abiajan comes to talk to Lirin, wondering if he has no compassion because he’s so numb to others’ suffering--he explains that he has to numb it to survive as a surgeon. She mentions that he set her arm, once, when she was a child. Also, hilariously, Abiajan says that plaguespren cause plague and that the idea that it’s improper sanitation is superstition.

Laral, Kaladin’s childhood friend, is helping out now, determined. Apparently the person that Lirin is worried about is a Herdazian general; Lirin does see him as responsible for much of the current strife for continuing to fight; however, he’s not going to turn him in, and instead has contacted Kaladin to come pick him up while Laral helps Roshone make a distraction.

Lirin’s condemnation of continuing a hopeless war as something that just gets people killed and is stupid (”Heroism is a myth you tell idealistic young people. It got one of my sons killed and another taken from me”) makes sense and is deeply sad. It’s also a good second perspective on the fact that so much of Roshar’s narrative has been about being forced to choose between two bad options and having the resolve to find another path or stick with the honorable thing--Lirin here is a reminder that that’s not always an option and sometimes makes things worse. “I obey the person who holds the sword to my neck, General, same as I always have.”

Heroism isn’t always an option. Heroism can get you killed and hurt the people around you. You have to be willing to take responsibility for that in order to try heroism, and that’s some of what Kaladin has had to struggle with, too--the fact that he can’t protect everyone and that his actions will lead to death sometimes.

Also, shoutout to Roshone for actually making a distraction here, good on you buddy. Anyway Lirin noticed that the parshmen always focus on what appears to be the person being seen to rather than, say, the people carrying the litter--probably because they’re used to the people doing those menial tasks being unnoticed and unspoken to, and have absorbed that norm of society? I don’t know, but Lirin is exploiting it.

Oh man, someone has visited Hearthstone, someone who Abiajan refers to as having blessed them, and she demands that Lirin come with her and that nobody leave the town. It’s one of the Fused, and it’s interrogating people about Kaladin--and they noticed that Kaladin was there, and Lirin notes that he barely recognizes Kaladin anymore, referring to him as the “harsh man Kaladin had become.”

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, just let Kaladin babysit people this book, let him rest, he deserves it. I mean, what’s happening is him having to fight again, but he deserves rest.

Cut to Kaladin’s perspective, Syl is delivering an “I told you so” about them being spotted, which is so relentlessly on-brand. Kaladin notes that he’s not looking at Lirin to avoid giving Lirin away, and also because “he knew what he would see. disappointment. So, nothing new.”

HEY. SOMEONE LOVE AND APPRECIATE KALADIN STORMBLESSED PLEASE HE’S DOING HIS BEST.

Meanwhile, Kaladin is learning the different “orders” of Fused; he’s mostly dealt with the shanay-im, “those of the heavens,” who share the flight of windrunners. Apparently Jasnah posited there would be ten orders, logically, and Dalinar--offering no explanation for how he knew--said it would only be nine. I mean, at this point if anyone knows Odium it’s Dalinar.

Also, this Fused has learned not to do single combat, which is Kaladin’s normal mode of dealing with them. I wonder if the order they’re modelled after affects their behavior--honorspren create windrunners, and agreeing to a one-on-one duel is a very honorable thing to do. Maybe there’s more connection there than either side wants to realize.

Ok, so what we know about this new Fused:

Teleports via shooting their spren forward, then forming a new body of voidlight and stone where they end up.

Probably elsecaller-linked (teleportation and then forming things out of energy)

Favors exploiting teleportation to allow for a grappling fighting style and sneaking into blind spots extremely quickly (big rogue energy)

Teleportation ability is extremely costly, can only be done three times before needing to recharge on Voidlight.

Does not teleport instantaneously; the spren-travel can be outrun, as Kaladin does by lashing himself forward five times (so, approximately five times the speed of gravity on Roshar, which is not gravity’s speed on earth, is faster than them; they’re considerably slower than light, even though that’s what they look like)

Can’t transport objects/make them from voidlight; clothing is a hair wrap and weapons are fragments of their skin

He leaves but tells Kaladin to watch for him; it also seems like Kaladin’s depression is coming back. Syl shows up to talk to him, wearing a different style--she’s been taking fashion notes from Adolin, which is hilarious.

Meanwhile, Veil is wandering around the Sadeas warcamps, irritated that she hasn’t been kidnapped yet, or even mugged. Also, Veil and Shallan are apparently teaching Radiant to appreciate humor, which is great. Adolin and his soldiers are apparently backing her up for this hopeful kidnapping, which is reassuring--I’m glad she’s not going it alone, although she’s very competent. She’s pretending to be a merchant who has a way in past Dalinar’s tariffs and is also implying he doesn’t have the authority to demand them.

Ooh, specifically Shallan is hunting the Hypocrite’s Association, which is what I’m calling the Sons of Honor for the moment I guess. For a moment, while they’re doing accounting, Shallan starts having a bit of a memory come back; Veil suggests it might be time to remember everything, but Shallan shuts that down.

Apparently, in the grand tradition of Sadeases not knowing when they’re beaten, Ialai is plotting treason. Ialai, how did that go for the last two Brightlords Sadeas? I’m begging you, quit while you’re...behind, honestly. But still alive. Anyway, the wine was drugged--finally--so they have officially been kidnapped!

Back to Kaladin, Syl is trying to convince him that it’s easy to sleep, he just has to lie down and pretend to be dead for a few hours (oh, Syl, honey, you’re trying to help but that’s not...that’s not it) but Kaladin is noting that it feels like life is strangely disconnected for him, like it keeps going for everyone else and he’s in stasis.

Chronic depression is a bitch.

Syl cheers him up by doing a terrible Kaladin impression, though. I love her. Kaladin goes back to talk to the singers, telling them that there’s a shelter half an hour to the east and telling them not to fight if they don’t want to die. They, of course, fight, which Kaladin doesn’t like; it’s very Alethi of them, though, to throw themselves forward.

Again, we’re back to whether or not there’s heroism in fighting a fight you can’t win. Even with Ialai, kind of--continuing to fight against Dalinar when she can’t win it. Hopeless fights are all well and good when your protagonists do them and it works, this part seems to be pointing out, but what if they fail? And how does it feel to be on the other side of them?

Anyway, the others retreat, and Kaladin gets to meet with his mom and baby Oroden (who pronounces his name as “Gagadin;” i’m gonna CRY). Syl always appears to Kal’s family. Also, apparently Kaladin was dating Lyn, which is wild because I’m almost positive based on her appearance last book that she’s gay as fuck, and she broke up with him. Also, Syl and Hesina are ganging up on Kaladin and it’s great.

"It’s demonstrably unfair that I have to deal with both of you at once,” Kaladin said.

Meanwhile it also turns out that the Radiants haven’t been supporting Herdaz because they saw it falling as inevitable, but it’s continued fighting against all odds. Another perspective: is it alright to abandon others fighting a fight that you assume is impossible, when it could be winnable with your strength?

Also, apparently the Mink likes to sneak away from his guards without letting them notice, and he’s done it again here. That’s pretty impressive, I’ve got to say, although Kaladin is aghast at the idea of leaving one’s men behind like that (of course).

Also, Kaladin organized one of Navani’s platforms to essentially airlift out all of Hearthstone. Trying to save as many people as he can, even still.

#rowliveblog #row spoilers #kaladin has a saving people thing #the ethics of unwinnable wars

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dogda · 3 years

Note

End-of-the-year book asks: #12

12. Any books that disappointed you?

ooh, yeah, definitely. in the last few years i’ve been trying to get over my need to finish a book no matter how much i may dislike it it, because what if it gets better? (sometimes it just doesn’t). but sometimes i make myself finish them anyway. not counting DNFs because i think that’s a separate question:

- aimless love - billy collins i made a post about this (very briefly) but billy collins just doesn’t do it for me. i got really tired of how many poems there were about the act of writing poems, or how often he inserted himself in things that didn’t need him to be there, and the “i’m so clever” tongue-in-cheek tone of almost everything. i genuinely liked maybe 5 or 6 poems in the whole book.

- black cats and evil eyes - chloe rhodes this was a loose collection of superstitions and folkloric traditions, and it was fine as a sort of starting point, but it was poorly organized and felt pretty shallow. i did learn a few things though.

- severance - ling ma maybe if i hadn’t been morbid enough to read a zombie novel during a pandemic, i would have enjoyed it more. i understand why the protagonist’s voice was so bland and unemotional, but it didn’t exactly make it thrilling. i did like the shen fever concept, since it was pretty different from other zombie plagues i’ve seen, but again, read it during a pandemic. i wanted to like it for what it was trying to do but i was kind of skimming by the end.

- most likely - sarah watson i read this for a book club at work that never happened because of covid, and i made myself finish it anyway because, i don’t know, some stupid sense of duty? i was already on furlough, what did it matter? anyway, the basic concept of this novel is kind of interesting, where one of four girls becomes the first female president but you don’t know which one at first. but the concept fell apart on a closer look because of how they framed it, and there was also an extremely uncomfortable subplot with a teenager pretending to be someone else and, more importantly, older to get close to a city councilor’s assistant (to the point of going on dates), which would have been very fun in an adult novel, but which was just statutory waiting to happen in this case. (luckily the guy fucking bolted as soon as he found out)

- an easy death - charlaine harris one of the only books i’ve ever left a goodreads review on, and only because i wanted to rep Wake of Vultures (because i will take every opportunity to do so): “A very exciting premise with very boring, inconsistent execution. If you want a gritty, funny, heartfelt historical fantasy western, skip this one and read Wake of Vultures by Lila Bowen instead.”

- malamander - thomas taylor also read this one for work. overall not bad, a strange little kids’ mystery, but with some elements that struck me as purposefully weird in a way that didn’t feel very natural. i had been expecting (hoping for) it to be creepy based on the cover and some of the marketing materials, and it very much wasn’t.

#rltirl #dsaucedo #rltask #thanks danny! sorry it took a while but like i said i will never shut up about books #ask games #didn't include The Shining because i wasn't disappointed by it. i knew it was going to suck #books

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lepus-arcticus · 5 years

Text

OMENS: CHAPTER FIVE one | two | three | four trigger warnings apply HORIZON MENNONITE COLONY JULY 23 - 12:06 PM

Abel Stoesz was cabled with stringy muscle, a sparse yellow beard struggling to assert itself under phlegmy, peacock-blue eyes. He had the brutish, loose-jawed look of someone who was willfully stupid, and Mulder, still on edge from the dead fox in the boat, was already itching to break his nose.

Salome, his wife, was a waif of a woman; tiny, shorter even than Scully, and so agonizingly underweight that you could see the architecture of her skull beneath her face. Perched beside Abel on the stiff loveseat, she rested her bird-bone hands on the gentle, rounded swell of her belly, and a raisin-coloured bruise, smattered with green, framed one eye. Most of her was buttoned up in one of the ubiquitous puff-sleeved frocks of the religiously sequestered, but Mulder would bet that the bruise had a few cousins underneath the powder-blue polyester. They were a few days fresh, he estimated, probably about as old as the news of Anna’s death.

Mulder longed for the opportunity to set Abel up with a few matching welts of his own, but settled for hating him privately in the interest of avoiding an assault charge and one of Skinner’s arduous ass-chewings. He consoled himself by grinding his molars together.

Outside, white bungalows and red barns squatted in clusters on the flat expanse of land. A black storm battled the sun for dominance, and the glass panes of the windows, loose in their tracks, rattled against the wind. The other members of the colony, bonneted and behatted, milled politely about their business.

He and Marion had been invited to stay for lunch by the community elders the moment they arrived. They’d been ferried along to the dining hall, but then Abel had emerged from the throng and snapped them away from the friendly masses, yelling for Salome, who scurried after them and into the dark of their tiny home.

The air stank of hyssop detergent. No one offered coffee or tea. Marion refused to sit down, and Salome eyed the gun on her hip uneasily.

Abel spoke first, and spoke plainly. “I didn’t murder my sister.”

“It’s interesting you say that, Mr. Stoesz,” Mulder countered, struggling to hide the contempt in his voice. “Why do you assume that Anna was murdered?”

“Why else would you people be here?” Abel glared at Marion, who was standing sentinel near the empty wall, arms crossed. Mulder half expected steam to billow from her nostrils.

“Your sister’s husband mentioned that you’re not too fond of him,” Mulder said. “Would you say that’s accurate?”

“Hugh Daly is a scourge on this earth, and every day I pray for his retribution,” Abel sneered, spittle frothing in the corners of his mouth.

“Wouldn’t it be more Christlike to pray for mercy on his soul, instead of divine punishment?” Marion asked, her face ruddy with indignation. She stared Abel down with fiery determination, and Abel stared right back, the loose skin around his eyes twitching, not deigning to respond. The wind knocked against the windows like it wanted to pick a fight.

“What has he done to warrant retribution?” Mulder asked, and Abel turned back to him.

“Anna always had a… disobedient streak. That’s why she left. But that man… he seduced her, corrupted her. Ruined her. Before he came sniffing around, before he made her his whore, Anna could have still come home. She could have returned to her people, to her rightful place.”

“Her rightful place?” Mulder prodded.

“It was my duty to bring her back. To correct her. She was my sister. My responsibility.”

Mulder leaned back in his seat, hands firmly flattened on his knees so they wouldn’t accidentally crash into Abel’s ugly mug. He let his eyes pass over Salome’s battered, bitter face, and wondered what, exactly, constituted this man’s idea of responsibility.

“You know, Mr. Stoesz,” he began, slowly, easing into a new strategy. “I… do admire your conviction. It takes a strong hand to correct a wayward woman, and so few men these days have the stomach for it.”

Abel was visibly heartened, his mouth twisting into an agreeable, self-righteous frown. This is too easy, Mulder thought to himself. Men like Abel thrived on validation. If he could effectively convince him that he was on his side, he was sure Abel would, intentionally or otherwise, let the cat out of the bag. Or, maybe, in this case, the crow.

Mulder could feel Marion staring at the back of his head, but thankfully, she didn’t say anything. He hoped she could trust that he knew what he was doing.

“I have a sister too,” he half-lied. “I understand. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect her. To bring her home if she was… lost.” His mind conjured a few versions of Samantha at various ages, abducted, cloned, ripped to a bloody pulp in the wheat. His chest contracted in a familiar pain, and he directed the images to the raw hollow in the back of his brain where he kept most of his thoughts about her, promising to return to them later for self-flagellation.

Abel nodded fervidly, evidently gathering his thoughts.

“Anna was the devil’s slut⁠—” Salome hissed in a high, thin squall, apparently unable to contain herself any longer. “Witch—”, then Abel violently gripped her arm, and she gasped and shut her mouth, glowering at her belly and skating a claw around it discontentedly.

“She was still my kin,” Abel growled.

Mulder, sensing an opening, leapt in for the kill. “Mr. Stoesz, have you ever experienced anything you couldn’t explain? Or suspected that you have the ability to make things… happen? To affect the world around you without necessarily taking direct action?”

Abel looked at Mulder stupidly, his neanderthal mind stonemilling the words, trying to decide if he was accusing him of something or not. But before he could answer, Salome spoke again.

“Hugh Daly is facing retribution for his sins. Whatever misfortunes befall him, whether they are acts of God, man, or Satan himself, he is deserving of.” She trembled with conviction, her bony jaw shaking.

“And Anna, Mrs. Stoesz? What about her?” Marion said tersely, from over at the wall.

“Perhaps she has also received her judgement,” said Salome, and Abel looked at her quickly, working, Mulder noticed, to keep his expression neutral.

Mulder’s cell chirped in his pocket. “Excuse me,” he muttered, and removed himself to the porch, carelessly letting the screen door slam shut behind him. He jabbed the worn rubber of the call button and put the phone to his ear, squinting at the gathering storm. “Mulder.”

“Mulder, it’s me…” Scully sounded breathless, resigned. He didn’t like it one bit. “Hey, you okay? What did the autopsy turn up?” He picked at a shard of peeling paint on the railing, wary of the sadness in her voice.

“Anna Daly was pregnant.”

“... Are you sure? How can you tell?”

“I found… remnants. Of the fetus.”

Mulder flinched. “From what I can gather based on the apparent level of skeletal development, I’d estimate she was eighteen to twenty weeks along.”

He sucked air through his teeth. “Jesus. You think Daly knew?”

“I’m going to call him up to the station here and find out.”

“You okay?” His stomach clenched with the brief flickering memory of her ova in a vial. Not now, he thought. She doesn’t need to know right now. Maybe not ever.

She hesitated momentarily before answering him. “I’m fine, Mulder.”

“You sure?” Scully’s voice took on an exasperated edge. “Yes.”

“Because if you’re not, it’s…” “What do you want me to say? That it was fun?” She said, sharply. “Scully, that’s not⁠—”

“⁠—Listen, I have to get back. We’ll discuss it tonight.”

“...Okay,” he said, doing little to disguise the irritation in his tone.

Held hostage by some unspoken, unacknowledged superstition, neither of them said goodbye. Mulder hung up the phone, took a stabilizing breath, refocused himself, and walked back inside. He settled back into a stiff-cushioned chair across from the Stoeszs. “I just got a call from my partner,” he said. “Mr. Stoesz, are you aware that Anna was pregnant at the time of her death?”

Abel looked like Mulder had punched him in the gut, which was almost as good as actually doing it.

“Are you serious?” Marion whispered behind him, and when he glanced over his shoulder at her, her eyes were saucer-wide.

And then Abel leapt up in a sudden rage, prompting Salome to flee the loveseat like a frightened, emaciated rabbit.

“Get out of my house,” he seethed, taking a few lunging steps towards Marion. She stumbled backwards, palming her gun over the holster.

“Mrs. Stoesz, if you’d like, you’re free to come with us.” Mulder swiftly maneuvered himself so that he was between her and Abel, and reached out an upturned hand, but she gave him such a sharp, hateful look that his balls practically shrivelled, even as his heart went out to her.

“You heard my husband,” she hissed. “Get out.”

Just another person he couldn’t save. Add it to the scoreboard, boys.

He stomped out of the house behind Marion’s flustered stride, the cool wind catching the edge of his trench coat and sending it flapping behind him. A few plaid-clad teenage boys waved excitedly at them from the flat of a wooden cart as they hoofed it back to the truck.

Marion released a creative string of curses and condemnations concerning Abel’s personal attributes, including the diminutive size of his dick. “You drive,” she finished, tossing Mulder the keys in disgust. “I’m gonna end up killing us if I do. Fuck, that man riles me.”

“You’ve got experience with him? Mulder asked, as he hoisted himself into the cracked leather driver’s seat of Marion’s cherry Chevy Scottsdale. A felted green air freshener in the shape of a pine tree swung from the rearview mirror. He started the engine, and Harvest swelled to life from the tape deck.

“Kind of.” Marion said, slumping into the passenger seat. “Met him a few times. Mostly at Rhiannon’s, back when me and Anna lived there. He used to show up a lot. Rhiannon usually wouldn’t let him past the front door, so him ‘n Anna’d be arguing in the driveway… God, was she really pregnant?”

“Yeah. Sc - uh, Dana found, um. She found evidence to that fact.”

“Fuck. Goddamnit.” Marion was pale.

Mulder pulled into the road and eased the needle on the speedometer upwards. The truck gasped and sputtered like it was having an asthma attack. The sky above had turned dark and threatening, but the sun pushed a few tenacious arms through the thunderclouds to illuminate the lonely stretch of highway. It was eerie as hell.

“So… while we’re at it, can you tell me how you came to live at Rhiannon’s?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“C’mon. Just help me out a little here.”

Marion picked at a hangnail, sullen and slouching. “Um... I, um, left the res when I was 16. I wasn’t planning on staying in Horizon or anything, but Theo picked me up and kinda took care of me and set me up at Rhiannon’s. She took Anna in, too, when she ran away from the colony.”

“Did Anna ever say anything about why she ran away?”

“Oh, gee, I dunno, she was probably tired of getting pummeled to shit by her brother,” she said bitterly, as if he was an idiot. She gripped the console and swallowed. “Fox, slow down a little.”

“Oh⁠—” he eased off the gas pedal. “The… colony elders didn’t do anything about it? What about their parents?”

“Her parents have been dead for years. Highway accident. And the elders...it was none of their business, not their concern. You saw how Salome looked. They’re fucking heartless up there.”

Mulder nodded, thinking. “So… do you think that Abel would be capable of all the things that have been happening? Setting the silos on fire? Drowning the horse? …Anna?”

“No,” Marion said flatly. “I don’t.” She took a deep breath and let it stream out of her nose.

“I’d love to know your thoughts on this, Marion.”

“And I’d love to know what the fuck you were going on about in there. Affecting things without trying to. What does that even mean?”

He eased into it as naturally as he could, cautious of her mood. “Well… in my particular line of work, I’ve seen people who… experience such a strong emotion that it can affect the physical world around them. Daly claims he’s been seeing omens, right? And I saw something strange myself this morning. A dead fox in a boat out at the lake.” She turned to him at that, quickly, with a sharp look in her eye. “That seems pretty on the nose, don’t you think?” he continued. “Perhaps Abel’s anger towards Daly is manifesting in these visions, or somehow these events are a result of⁠—”

“⁠—Stop the car. Oh, God, stop the car. Stop the car.” Mulder glanced at her, and upon seeing the look on her face, immediately pulled over to the side of the highway, lurching over the rumble strip. Even before they’d rolled to a stop, Marion was heaving herself out of the passenger seat and vomiting noisily into the ditch, clutching her stomach.

Mulder had to look away to keep from losing the rest of his breakfast. Jesus, first this morning, and now Marion... this was entirely too much upchuck for one day. He hadn’t even been going that fast.

He hunted around the back seat for the bottle of water he’d spotted earlier. He replayed a few fresh, brutal memories of Scully’s poorly-hidden chemo nausea, her deathly pallor, her heart-wrenching heaves behind closed motel bathroom doors. He burned anew with guilt.

Mulder swung himself out of the truck when the retching stopped, toting the bottle. Marion was kneeling on the side of the road, arms wrapped around herself, weeping. He crouched down and placed a palm on her back, trying not to balk at the caustic smell of her.

“Marion, have some water, okay?” He held the bottle out to her, and she looked up at him, teeth bared, her earth-dark eyes bottomless with desperation. “We’ll find out what happened to Anna. I promise. We’ll keep you safe. From Abel, from Hugh⁠—”

“Oh, you stupid, stupid⁠—” she sobbed. “Abel has nothing to do with it. You can’t stop it, Fox. You can’t. You need to leave this place. You need to get out.”

An investigatory thrill chilled the back of his neck, and a distant flash of lightning silently illuminated a fumey cluster of clouds. “What can’t I stop, Marion? Why do we need to leave?”

Marion groaned in tandem with a low roll of thunder, her tears splattering onto the asphalt, a prelude of the coming storm.

“You can’t stop what’s happening.” Her throat was thick with fear. “No one can.”

#omens #txf fic #i fucking MEAN IT about the trigger warnings on this chapter folks I felt sick writing it #also it's a holiday monday so I'm just posting this now instead of later because well. I'm the boss of me!

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haberdashing · 4 years

Text

The End Comes Near (3/?)

TMA AU where Jon isn’t entirely wrong when he asks if Martin is a ghost in episode 39.

on AO3

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7

Jon looked like shit.

Martin knew why, of course, and he wasn’t judging, exactly. He was sure he didn’t look his best either at the moment, and he’d managed to avoid the worst of the worms’ wrath... somehow... with only a scraped knee to show for his troubles. Jon and Tim evidently hadn’t been so lucky.

Martin wondered, distantly, what would have happened if he hadn’t tripped in the tunnels, if he had been there alongside Jon and Tim to face the brunt of Prentiss’ attack. Would the worms have gotten over whatever had stopped them from... from injuring him when they’d gone after him in the tunnels, leaving Martin in as bad of shape as Jon and Tim now were? Or would the worms have died en masse in the attack, all of them that touched Martin perishing in the attempt like their comrades in the tunnels? Could he have protected his coworkers from it all, at least a little bit?

Whatever the outcome might have been, though, it wasn’t what had actually happened, and it’s not like he’d planned on tripping down there. What was done was done, and that was that.

Though Jon evidently wasn’t done with it all just yet, based on his insistence on taking Martin’s statement now, rather than after both of them had the chance to get some rest, reflect on some things, clean up a little...

Honestly, it was downright painful to look at Jon, to know how much he must be suffering right now, and to know that stupid, stubborn Jon would insist on getting Martin’s statement on tape just the same, no matter how long it took, no matter how much Martin pleaded with him to just call it a night already.

He did try, at least.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine. Painkillers are starting to wear off, but… it’s fine.”

It was not fine. It was obviously not fine, between the bloody holes that covered what looked to be the entirety of Jon’s body and the way he grimaced when he spoke. Martin wasn’t sure who Jon was trying to fool more, Martin or himself, but he doubted it was working much either way.

“Statement of Martin Blackwood, archival assistant, etcetera, etcetera. Go.”

It all really must have been getting to Jon, if he wasn’t even willing to say the full introduction before handing over the burden of speech to Martin. Jon was usually such a stickler for that kind of thing. Admittedly, Martin suspected that Jon had used the same tape when he’d pestered the rest of the staff into giving their respective statements, so the date and such would already be on it, but still... it wasn’t like Jon, to let something like that slip by the wayside, to just assume that he could flout a few technical requirements to save a bit of time. Usually it seemed like Martin was the one who’d try to find a way to cut through the formalities and Jon was the one who’d inevitably end up yelling at him for it.

He must really be hurting.

But Martin knew well enough that at this point, the only way he could help Jon was by telling his story as quickly as possible, get it over with sooner rather than later so they could all go get some rest.

“Right. Well, I was doing some background checks for case 0081709, when you and Sasha started screaming, so I went to ch-”

Jon interrupted, cutting Martin off without even a hint of hesitation, irritation evident in his voice. “Yes, yes, I was there! I was with you for almost the whole time, and that tape survived just fine.”

“Sorry.”

“Ah, it’s fine. I just… I only need from when you got separated. From when you got lost in the tunnels.”

“No, I mean...” Martin gulped as he considered his next words, though he was fairly certain both what the gist of them would be and that they probably weren’t strictly necessary. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep up.”

Maybe it was silly, to apologize for tripping, to apologize rather than being the one apologized to when the others had been the ones who left him behind in the middle of the attack. But Martin had grown used to apologizing, over the years. Apologizing for mistakes, for accidents, for daring to take up space in the world... it came naturally at this point.

“...oh, Martin.”

And now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop, explaining and apologizing for actions that hadn’t been intentional in the first place but felt like some sort of grave error on his part all the same. “It was an accident. I mean, the worms came at us, and they were so much faster, and then there was the gas, and the running, and I just… I, I tripped, there was a rock and it wasn’t even that big but it was big enough to do the trick I suppose, and I wanted to catch up but by the time I got up you were gone, you were both gone. It was an accident.”

“I know. It’s fine, Martin. Everybody’s…” Jon let out a long sigh. “Everyone’s fine… I just need you to tell me what happened next, and then it’s finished.”

“Fine” seemed like a bit of an overstatement, in Martin’s opinion, seeing what damage had been done to Jon and Tim (and there was still a voice in the back of his head saying that he could have, should have, done something to prevent it), but Jon had a point. All Martin had to do was explain his piece of the puzzle, and then it was all over with, at least for tonight. Then they could all go home. Then they could try to put this whole ordeal behind them.

“Alright. So, um, yeah, I tripped, scraped my knee a bit, and one of the worms actually jumped on my arm-”

Jon looked up from his gazing at the tape recorder, his eyes wide with a sharp clarity Martin was sure hadn’t been there a moment before. “Did the ECDC check you out?”

“Yes!” Martin said, perhaps a bit louder than necessary, and Jon nodded, his gaze slowly sinking back downwards. “But they didn’t need to, really, because the worm barely touched me. I looked away, just waiting for- well, for whatever came next, I suppose, and then I saw the worm was on the ground, still and dead. There were a few others laying dead there around where I’d fallen--I guess they must have gone after me and I hadn’t even noticed, and somehow that had killed them, too?”

Jon looked back up at Martin, but he didn’t say a word, though Martin could read well enough the curiosity in his eyes.

“Reminded me a bit of how you asked if I was a ghost, really. Ghosts can’t get eaten by worms, can they?”

Jon groaned quietly and made a show of looking anywhere besides at Martin, and despite everything, Martin found himself having to suppress a snort of laughter.

“So once I got up I, I tried shouting, but you didn’t answer...”

It was surprisingly easy to explain the rest from there. Martin felt like it would have been a lot harder if it was just a normal conversation he was having with Jon, like he would have tripped over half his words then, but it was different, somehow, with the tape recorder sitting between them. Like he was just another statement-giver, and it was his job to make sure what he had to say made sense, as much as any of this made sense to begin with.

Jon interjected once briefly, to help keep Martin on track, but he only really began asking questions once Martin reached the bit about finding Gertrude Robinson’s body.

“Martin, how did Gertrude Robinson die?”

Martin was pretty sure he knew how Gertrude Robinson had died; her injuries had been obvious enough, and he had left that room feeling a deep certainty as to the cause of death, though any details beyond that still eluded him. But the officers he had spoken to hadn’t appreciated his making assumptions, and Martin proceeded figuring that Jon probably wouldn’t either, especially given how thorough he was being about this whole thing.

“I don’t know. Not for sure. It was so dark, and I only saw the body for a few seconds. The police were quite clear that the cause of death could be absolutely any-”

“MARTIN!” Jon’s near-shouting startled Martin, shook him out of his previous train of thought. “How did she die?”

Martin’s answer came like a reflex. “She was shot! Three times, that I could see. Three shots to the chest.”

“Right. Right. Thank you, Martin.”

“...sure.” Martin didn’t feel like reporting a murder was something to be thanked for, but he was willing to accept it to keep the conversation moving just the same.

As Jon’s hand moved towards the tape recorder, preparing to turn it back off, Martin spoke up again.

“Er, I know it’s not strictly needed anymore, but can I keep living in the Archives?”

Jon’s finger rested atop the button to turn the tape recorder off as he stared at Martin as if he’d just grown a second head. “You want to stay in the Archives. Where there are thousands of rotting worm carcasses? That Archives?”

Martin could feel the blood draining from his face; he hadn’t actually thought through that angle of things just yet.

“Why would you want to, anyway?”

“Well, I keep thinking about when you asked if I was a ghost-”

Jon sighed, but Martin pressed on just the same.

“-and it’s true that I haven’t left the Institute’s building for some time now. I just keep thinking, what if you were right?”

“I was joking.”

Martin was quite sure that Jon’s question hadn’t been intended as a joke, and after a moment of uncertainty, decided to continue as if Jon hadn’t just claimed otherwise. “What if, if something happens to me when I try to leave?”

Jon pressed one hand against his temple, which had to be all kinds of unsanitary, given that both were covered with still-bloody worm holes. “You’re not a ghost, Martin. You’ll be fine. Just... just go home.”

Jon clicked off the tape recorder, and Martin considered how easily it could have been him telling Jon to go home already rather than vice versa, given the situation. It was probably just a weird bit of superstition that kept him wanting to stay in the building, or perhaps some variation of Stockholm Syndrome. Certainly, the last thing Martin wanted was to spend another night surrounded by worms, even if they were all dead already.

So Martin got up, collected what things he had around the office that hadn’t been utterly destroyed by the worm infestation, and went home.

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